


Untitled

by greerian



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Assisted Suicide, Gen, Guns, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, Psychosis, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal actions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-05-11 22:12:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5643751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerian/pseuds/greerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark 5:2-5</p><p>  <i>And when He was come out of the ship, immediately there met Him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit,</i></p><p>  <i>Who had his dwelling among the tombs; and no man could bind him, no, not with chains:</i></p><p>  <i>Because that he had been often bound with fetters and chains, and the chains had been plucked asunder by him, and the fetters broken in pieces: neither could any man tame him.</i></p><p>  <i>And always, night and day, he was in the mountains, and in the tombs, crying, and cutting himself with stones.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic has been 'Stay Alive' and 'Edges of the World', but I can't seem to find one that continues to fit. I'm very sorry for the inconvenience, but the story itself isn't changing.
> 
> No one actually dies in this fic; the suicidal character does not go through with his attempt. There is not a lot of actual violence, but there are some intense scenes. 
> 
> I cannot promise a happy ending. Please read and pay attention to the tags. I consider this fic to be darker than Soul-Eater, and this touches on a lot of issues in an unhealthy way. Please consider your limits, and do not read this if you're having a bad day.
> 
> Playlist for this story: "Demons" (cover) - Gavin Mikhail  
> "Edges of the World" - Fun Home original cast recording  
> "Stay Alive" - Jose Gonzales  
> "Emperor's New Clothes" - Panic! at the Disco  
> "Time" - Eric Whitacre Live at iTunes Festival, ft. Hans Zimmer
> 
> Edit (3/2/17): I plan on editing and possibly finishing this fic sometime in the near future.

Kevin is in the middle of washing up from dinner when Elder McKinley approaches him, looking as determined as Kevin’s ever seen him. "Elder Price?” he says. “I need to ask for a favor."

Kevin frowns, confused at the direct request, but simply answers "Sure, Elder. What can I do for you?"

McKinley looks around surreptitiously; Elder Church is doing a poor job of pretending not to listen. "Not here," he mutters.

He quickly walks out of the living room and onto the porch, Kevin following warily. _What could he want to say to me that he doesn't want anyone overhearing?_ _  
_

He pulls the door shut behind him, wiping his still damp hands on his pants. "So?" he prompts, and Elder McKinley looks away.

"Well, Elder," he begins, avoiding his eyes but sounding completely professional, "as you know, the Church of Arnold has forbidden its followers from 'turning it off'."

"By your suggestion," Kevin replies, already ill at ease. There’s something about his district leader that he doesn’t know how to deal with. Maybe it’s because everybody and their brother knows that the only thing keeping him from being fully gay was turning it off, and now that _that_ ’s gone... "Elder McKinley, before we continue, this isn't going to be anything, uh... well, you know... _sexual_ , is it?" He winces at his own words; they're far too harsh when spoken aloud. Why does he have to be such an asshole to everybody?

But Elder McKinley laughs, throwing his head back with what might sound to anyone else like unhampered glee. Kevin knows better, though, and he hears how bitter the sound is. He's heard the same quality in his own voice far too often in the past few weeks to not recognize it in someone else's.

"No, Elder," McKinley finally replies. "I would... I wouldn't ever ask that of you. But this, ah... this _request_ does have something to do with that, I'll admit."

"Oh." Well, now Kevin has no clue why he's here. He's not exactly good for much in the new Church of Arnold, except for fact-checking against the original text. Any of the other elders can do that too, though, and Kevin knows his only place now is as Prophet Cunningham's best friend. He doesn't understand the new stories, and he's not very good at relating to the Ugandans. There's a disconnect he's always felt, like he's on a different level than the people around him. He's always thought it was because he was above them, but now he's starting to realize it’s the other way around. "Then, uh, forgive me for making the assumption."

Elder McKinley shakes his head, sighing. "No need for that, Elder," he says, and Kevin nods.

There's an awkward silence for a few minutes, as Elder McKinley visibly struggles with what he's going to say, but finally Kevin can't take the waiting and asks "Are you going to ask me about something you can't turn off?"

McKinley nods absently, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth, and Kevin fidgets. It isn't like the district leader to be so quiet; he's usually always making sounds of some sort, humming or whistling or singing if he isn't talking. Heck, even tapping his toes would be better than this.

"This is going to sound crazy," he finally says, and Kevin takes a deep breath. _Of course._ Due to his actions during his first few days in Uganda and the subsequent nightmares that arose as a consequence, Kevin had gotten a bit of a reputation as the crazy elder. Instead of Elder Cunningham being out of place, it's him apologizing for Kevin with a 'you know how it is' smile whenever Kevin does something weird, like shiver in the upwards of 90 degree heat, or carefully avoid any and all touch, even innocuous pats on the shoulder or what have you. He’s gotten so paranoid about things since then, too, jumping at the slightest sound; Elder McKinley is probably just going to ask him to tone it down or something, as if Kevin isn't trying already.  
But then he keeps talking, smiling brightly like Kevin can't see that it's fake.

"And I mean really crazy, Elder, but I swear I wouldn't ask unless I were at my wit's end. I've looked at every other option, and even with the blessing of the Church of Arnold I don't think I-" he stops, visibly squaring his shoulders. "I know I can't do this."

 _Wait, do what?_ _  
_

"There's no way out," McKinley says, softly, and slowly his hand comes to grip at his forearm, as if he has something there to hide. For the first time, Kevin notices that his skin looks too smooth, almost like it's... it's coated in makeup, covering what's underneath. "I can't..." he murmurs, gaze blank and empty.

"Elder McKinley?" Kevin ventures, and McKinley's blue eyes snap to his. There's an almost manic light there now, matched by the grin on his chapped lips, and Kevin is suddenly very, very scared.

"Yes, Elder?" he replies, brightly.

Kevin steps back, and now it’s his turn to look away. "Are you all right?" he ventures.

"Of course not," the district leader replies, shaking his head. He loosens his grip on his arm, leaving a smear of foundation on his palm, and Kevin sees the telltale white line of a scar near the elder’s pale wrist. "But, Elder Price, even if you say no, you can't tell a soul about this, do you hear me? Not a soul.”

Kevin, overwhelmed by what he's just realized, nods, and Elder McKinley sighs in relief.

"All right," he says, lifting his chin in determination. "Elder Price, I need you to kill me."

 

Kevin loses his breath. “...excuse me?”

Elder McKinley doesn’t even have the grace to look away. “I need you to do this for me. Please.”

“No!” Kevin cries. “Why would you- what? Elder McKinley, what are you _talking_ about?”

McKinley frowns, looking righteously angry. Kevin’s never seen anything so surreal.

“I’ve been having, well, some _trouble_ lately. Now that I can’t turn it off, my… there’s too much for me to handle. So, I… I’ve gotten my affairs in order, and I sent a letter to my family, and I have a letter of resignation that I’ll have delivered to Kampala once you- _if_ you agree.”

Kevin’s eyes grow impossibly wide. “You’re serious about this?”

“Do you think I would have asked otherwise?”

“But- but Elder McKinley, this is _suicide_! Actual suicide! You can’t, can’t _want_ to-”

“Can’t I?”

Kevin finds very suddenly that he has nothing more to say.

Elder McKinley keeps going. “I’m well aware of what it is, Elder Price, and I know just how wrong it is, too. But I…” Again, he falters, and his professional facade slips as his eyes go blank. “I can’t keep going. It’s for the best.”

“What about the other elders?” _What about me?_ Kevin thinks. He’s been walking a fine line of stability as it is, and that’s without the inevitable chaos and horror of something like this in his life. He… what’s going to happen to him if Elder McKinley dies?

Elder McKinley just smiles, running one hand through his hair. “They’ll be just fine,” he says softly. “You’ll take care of them, won’t you?”

Kevin bites back a hysterical chuckle, saying “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Elder, but I’m not exactly popular around here.” Not after the stunning introduction he gave himself.

“But they look up to you,” Elder McKinley insists earnestly. “You’re a natural leader, Kevin, even if… well.”

“Even if I don’t believe in God?”

McKinley bites his lip. “Yes, that.”

“Is that why you’re asking me?” Kevin presses. “Because I don’t know if God exists? That doesn’t mean I don’t have a moral code, Elder. I’m still a Mormon, okay? Or, uh, an Arnoldian. Whatever. You… if you do really want to k- to do this, I’m not going to be okay with it.”

“You don’t have to be okay with it,” Elder McKinley says, “you just have to pull the trigger.”

His words sink to pit of Kevin’s stomach, and he feels himself go pale.

_He wants a gun?_

“Excuse me?”

“Just… just pull the trigger, that’s all I’m asking,” McKinley pleads, looking up at Kevin with wide, imploring eyes. They stand out in sharp contrast to the deep bags under his eyes, and his pale, sunburnt skin, and Kevin suddenly realizes that Elder McKinley looks _awful_. “Please, Elder Price; I need this.”

“You’re asking to die,” Kevin replies, breathless with horror. “Why?”

He looks away. “I’m in hell every night, Elder,” he says bitterly, “and the days aren’t enough to make up for it anymore. Look around. Look at these people, suffering in a way _we_ havenever had to face. What if my death makes things better for them? Or, if not them, then others. Think of the money it takes to keep me alive. Wouldn’t it be better spent on AIDS research, or medicines for the village? I can’t just sit here, watching them die without hope, while knowing that my time here has an expiration date and I could go home.”

It’s strangely selfless to hear it put that way, and Kevin almost forgets to disagree. He’s felt the same way himself far too many times since arriving in Uganda, and Elder McKinley is so earnest about it…

“But, also… if I’m doomed to an afterlife of hell, it doesn’t really make sense to stick around for previews every night, now does it?”

Dazed, Kevin shakes his head. He can’t believe that Elder McKinley is even _asking_ for this, much less that he’s trying to justify it by saying he’d rather get to hell sooner than later.

“Besides,” he continues, half-smiling, “if it really isn’t a big deal, then I’ll get to be with Heavenly Father, and that should be wonderful. Not that it’s going to turn out that way, but maybe you can tell Poptarts so, if he asks. He’s such a sensitive soul, Elder, and it’s going to be really rough on him, with his sister and all. I want you to keep a special watch on him, all right?”

“I’m going to have your blood on my hands!” Kevin hisses. “You think that I’ll even be able to _look_ at him?”

Elder McKinley lights up. “So you’ll do it?”

Kevin doesn’t answer.

“Elder, you won’t have my blood on your hands. I’m _asking_ you to do this. The guilt is all on me.”

“ _Why,_  though?” Kevin repeats. “Why are you doing this? Isn’t there enough death in the world without you adding to it?” There’s Poptarts’ sister who died of cancer, Kalimba’s husband, shot by the general, and Asmeret’s baby who died just a week or so ago for no reason at all. Nabalungi’s mother, of AIDS. Kevin’s grandmother, of Alzheimer's. McKinley’s father, who died in Afghanistan. He had told all the elders that story, after Asmeret’s baby’s funeral, making them all promise to protect each other. “How, after everything you’ve been through, can you want to do this to- to your friends?”

“I’m not-” McKinley stops. “As melodramatic as it sounds, they’ll be better off without me.”

“Oh, come on, you know that-”

“Elder Price, I’m not going to change my mind. Either you’re going to do this for me or I’ll… I’ll do it myself.”

Elder McKinley’s gaze is steady and determined, and Kevin has to look away. A silence falls between them, and the sounds of the elders talking inside the house and the chirps of locusts outside seem to become almost unbearably loud in the aftermath. For some reason, Kevin has to resist throwing his hands over his ears to block out the noise.

Finally, Elder McKinley chuckles, looking out at the Ugandan night. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me why I’m asking for help,” he says softly.

“I’m a little more concerned with the fact that you’re asking in the first place,” Kevin snaps.

McKinley doesn’t seem to be bothered, though, still smiling as he replies “It’s because I’m very selfish, Elder. I don’t want to be alone when it happens.”

“That doesn’t explain why you want me to do it.”

“No, it doesn’t,” McKinley admits. “That part is because, well, two reasons: first, if you were there, just watching, do you really think you wouldn’t try to stop me at the last minute?” He turns his gaze back to Kevin and smiles warmly, like the fact that Kevin wants to save his life is endearing but hopelessly naive. Kevin feels sick at the reminder of his own failures. “And, second… I don’t know if I can do it myself.” He shrugs, averting his gaze again, and murmurs “I’m afraid of the pain.”

Kevin nods in sympathy before he realizes what he’s doing. “But… but Elder McKinley, is not turning it off really so bad?” he protests. It’s weak, he knows, but it’s getting to the point that he’s fighting to think of reasons _not_ to agree to this, and that is very, _very_ bad.

“It’s not just that,” the district leader replies. He sighs, and Kevin is struck by how fragile he looks, then. McKinley isn’t very tall or muscular, and most of his leadership ability comes from his impressive energy levels and determined enthusiasm, a front that Kevin has never thought to question. Now that it’s gone, though, McKinley just looks… lost. Young. He’s hardly more than a kid, isn’t he? “It’s not just turning it off. It’s… there’s a lot going into this, Elder.”

The use of his title is jarring. Kevin steps back. “It can’t be enough to wish for… for suicide,” he says, and Elder McKinley shakes his head.

“I don’t need you to tell me that it’s not necessary,” he responds quickly. “I’ve made up my mind. Now, I’m trusting you with this. Are you going to help me or not?”

Kevin starts to shake his head, then he stops. He tries to reply, but no words come out. Elder McKinley waits patiently.

Kevin should have known from the start what his answer would be. When he didn’t immediately walk away, when he started to sympathize, when he was having trouble finding cons to McKinley’s pros, that’s when he should have known that he was going to be spineless and pathetic, and agree to take someone else’s life for reasons he can’t even fully understand. But he’s not brave enough for that, yet, just as he can’t pretend to say ‘no’ to the faint hope in McKinley’s eyes.

“Can I think about it?” he asks, hating himself for the words.

“Of course, Elder Price,” the district leader replies warmly, smiling and encouraging. “You take all the time you need. I’ll ask you again in a week, if that’s all right?”

“A… a week?” Kevin repeats dumbly. How is he supposed to live with a decision like this on his mind for a _week_?

“Yes, unless you think it might take longer.” McKinley looks just like his normal district leader self now, and it’s only because Kevin now knows better that he can see anything wrong. But there’s a tightness around his eyes, and his hands are still clasped nervously, and the redhead’s shoulders form a tense, straight line far higher than they should be.

“No, no, that’s… fine. I’ll… I’ll come to you.”

McKinley beams. “Great! I’ll be eagerly awaiting your decision.” Then he’s gone, slipping past Kevin and back into the mission house, a snippet of sound and light escaping through the doorway before the peeling wood slams back into its frame.

The sound snaps something in Kevin, and he gasps for breath, leaning against the side of the house. If it weren’t for the panic roiling in his stomach, he wouldn’t be able to believe that what he just heard actually happened. But there’s no way his subconscious would have made all of that up about _Elder McKinley_ , of all people. Out of everyone in District Nine, McKinley would have been the last person Kevin would have pegged to be- _what, crazy? Like you?_  

He takes a deep breath, slowly clasping his hands into fists and relaxing them again. It helps with the shaking, he’s found, a new development since his little adventure with the general, and since the littlest thing can set him off, make him weak and shaking and breathless with the fear of things that don’t even exist outside of the corners of his eyes, he’s grateful to have found a trick to help.

Elder McKinley wants him to help him commit suicide. Okay. That… that is what just happened.

And his reasons _why_ are… compelling. No; understandable? That’s closer. Kevin’s not sure, but the district leader’s words triggered something in him that he has to fight daily to keep down. Maybe… maybe he’s right, then. If they’re experienced similar things, and come to the same conclusions, then maybe…

 _No, I… I can’t!_ Kevin tells himself. _What am I thinking?_

But, even to himself, he doesn’t say no.

There’s a part of him that’s been broken since he heard the phrase “hasa diga eebowai” for the first time, he knows. As much as he recoiled when Elder McKinley first stated his request, if he’s really, truly honest with himself, he has to admit that he’s thought of all of those reasons himself. And, the worst part is that he can’t say that he thinks McKinley is wrong.

 _You can’t be seriously considering this!_ he tells himself. _It’s murder!_

But on the other hand… _It isn’t, is it? It’s… it’s suicide. It’s Elder McKinley’s choice, and if he’s already made up his mind… it’s not like it’s not going to happen anyway._

His head is spinning worse than it had during his second hell dream. It’s confusing, only in that he didn’t know that was possible. Who knew real life could become as awful as a nightmare?

 _That isn’t really the reason you’re considering this, are you?_ he asks himself. He takes a deep breath, eyes surveying the dusky horizon as if finding something will distract him from himself, from the sticky, tangled ball of sickening emotions sitting heavily in his chest. _It’s because you want to know if you can do it, too. This isn’t about him at all. This is because you’re jealous. Former super Mormon Kevin Price, jealous over a suicidal, homosexual district leader. You want to be in his place, to be courageous enough for that, don’t you?_

“No,” he mutters, “no, I don’t. Stop it.”

_Then what is it? Why, are you going to tell yourself that’s because you have pity for him? It’ll be a mercy killing? No. No, Kevin, you’re nowhere near that righteous. Not anymore._

He throws his hands up over his ears. It doesn’t block out the locusts, or the soft chatter from the mission house, but instead of the voice of his own mind he hears the beating of his heart, thumping painfully behind his ribs. He stays like that for a moment, breathing heavily; he’s not sure if he can handle coherent thought right now. And yet, coherent thought slides its way in anyway, whispering _If God doesn’t exist, and nothing matters, then why is this such a big deal? Why does it matter at all?_

After a long, long moment, Kevin finds himself chuckling.

“It doesn’t.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin says 'yes'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: guns, deteriorating mental health, lack of personal care, assisted suicide
> 
> Please, please be careful when reading this.

“Elder McKinley.”

The district leader only takes one look at Kevin before excusing himself from the breakfast table and dragging him outside. Kevin runs a hand through his hair, trying to salvage some sort of hairstyle from the greasy, bed-mussed mess it must be. He hadn’t slept all night, and he knows McKinley can see that. But the other man looks thrilled to see him anyway, and he guesses that has to be enough.

“Well, Elder?” he prompts, and Kevin looks away. There is no way on this earth he can say what he’s about to say (or do what he’s offering to do) while looking him in the eye.

“...I’ll do it,” he says, and McKinley beams.

“Oh, I… I don’t even have the words to describe how grateful I am,” he says, taking Kevin’s hand and squeezing it firmly. “I was hoping you’d come through. Oh, thank you; thank you so much, Elder Price!”

Kevin half smiles, eyes firmly trained on the ground.

“Hey,” McKinley says, only a little less enthusiastic. “Will you look at me, please?”

Sending a quick prayer to Heavenly Father for strength (and hating himself for the instinctual move), Kevin does.

Elder McKinley is smiling, eyes alight with the sort of desperate hope Kevin hadn’t seen before the Book of Arnold gained its first converts; the sort of hope that comes when someone is drowning and a lifeline is thrown their way. In the soft light of dawn, his auburn hair glows red-gold, and the patchy redness of his cheeks is muted and smoothed away. He looks… beautiful. Kevin wants to cry.

“Thank you, Elder Price,” he murmurs, his tone bordering on hero-worship. “I… this means so much to me. Just- thank you.”

Kevin turns away, and clears his throat. “You’d better write the elders a damn good explanation,” he says in reply. He doesn’t want to be worshiped for this.

“Oh, I will,” McKinley says brightly. “I’ll be completely honest, lay all my cards out on the table, and then they won’t be so angry.”

Kevin doesn’t stop his bark of bitter laughter in time.

“What?” the district leader asks, almost whining.

“You think they’re not going to be angry?”

“Not if I tell them _why_.”

“They’re going to be angry no matter what you do, Elder. Because you’re _leaving_ them.”

Elder McKinley sighs. “They won’t be angry when they realize I deserve it.”

Kevin grits his teeth. “Stop.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to hear you talk about it. Just… please stop.”

“Oh.” Out of the corner of his eye, Kevin sees Elder McKinley frown. “Why not?”

“Because,” he snaps, “you don’t deserve it. I’m doing this because you asked, not because I think you deserve to die, okay?”

Elder McKinley blinks. “Oh. Wow, Elder Price, I… well. Thank you for saying that. That’s… um, v-very sweet of you.”

Kevin doesn’t answer.

“Well. I had better get, um, right on that, then. The letters, I mean. I was thinking we could do it sometime this evening after dinner while the others are out proselytizing, if that’s all right with you.”

“Tonight?” Kevin asks. _So soon?_

Elder McKinley sends him a curious look. “Would you rather wait? I’ve been waiting quite a while now, so I would prefer to get it over with, personally.”

“No, no, that’s… this is your… I mean, it’s about you. Tonight is… fine.”

“Wonderful!” Elder McKinley replies, grinning. “You’ll have to play sick, all right? That shouldn’t be too hard; you look awful right now. But make sure to play it up so I have to stay behind with you, and… well, I’ll explain everything else tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” Kevin echoes. “Sure.”

The district leader simply smiled again before turning sharply on his heel and striding confidently back into the mission hut.

Kevin has to clench his hands into fists for another few minutes before he can go back inside.

*****

Elder McKinley is surprisingly cheerful for the rest of the day. All the elders take notice, and therefore perk up themselves, leaving only Kevin to wallow in misery and regret. It’s so bad that Elder Poptarts pulls him aside at lunch and, after thanking him for whatever he said to Elder McKinley to make him so happy, asks if he’s doing okay.

“We’re all here for you, Elder,” he says, reaching up to sympathetically pat Kevin’s shoulder. “If you ever need to talk or anything, I’ll listen.”

Kevin just nods before turning and running away. He doesn’t eat lunch, obviously, not after hearing that. And he skipped breakfast, too, in favor of talking to McKinley. He’ll probably skip dinner too, he thinks; he has no appetite.

 _I’m going to kill him tonight,_ he thinks, every time he lays eyes on his district leader, warmly thanking Mafala for some small favor or laughing with Kalimba’s daughter or signing forms from the mission president. _He’ll be dead by this time tomorrow._

 

Needless to say, he’s not a very good missionary that day. Or a good mission companion. Arnold notices, but he’s so busy being the voice of God to the Africans and pretending like he and Nabulungi aren’t dating that he doesn’t really talk to Kevin all day; Kevin is perfectly fine with that. Arnold, for all his eccentricities, is a little too observant for his own good. He doesn’t always act like it, but Kevin knows that Arnold could probably recognize every lie he’s ever been told, and even with his companion’s newfound prestige, it’s only a matter of time before he figures out that something is really wrong.

But Arnold doesn’t talk to him, and after lunch his attitude is so bad that he gets sent home for the day (again), and ends up pretending to read the Book of Arnold with glassy eyes.

*****

It isn’t hard after that to feign illness; no one here cares enough to try and verify his story, anyway.

“Oh, Elder Price, I’m so sorry!” Elder McKinley says, sickeningly sympathetic. “Would you like me to stay behind for you? I don’t think you should be up and about right now.”

He nods, rubbing at his burning eyes, and he sees McKinley shoo the others out after dinner.

“You really don’t look well, Elder,” he says, frowning. The simpering tone is gone, which Kevin appreciates, but he doesn’t want anything like that right now. Not from a man who’s about to die. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” he says, shoving one hand into his greasy hair. Oh yeah, he hadn’t showered today, either. Well, he’ll have to, later, to get the blood off. No use wasting good water on two showers in one day.

McKinley frowns, looking him over, then he half shrugs and bounces out of the room.

Kevin sighs, slumping onto the sofa. _Why did I say yes?_ he asks himself.

 _Because you couldn’t say no_.

 

Elder McKinley comes back in the room, a smile on his face and a gun in his hand. It’s a small one, certainly nothing like anything from the general’s old arsenal, but the sight of it has Kevin tense and on his feet in a second.

“Relax, Elder,” McKinley reassures him, “the safety’s on. I just wanted you to get a feel for it before, well.”

He holds it out, and Kevin has to grit his teeth to the point of pain to make himself take it.

“Now, as for particulars, I had my letter to the mission president delivered this morning, and I recommended you as my replacement. Of course, if you would rather decline, I have Elder Davis listed as a back-up. I’ve written letters to each of the elders, Poptarts in particular, and they’re in the top right-hand drawer of my desk. As for any legal issues, I’m trusting my family’s lawyer to work things out, with the visa and all. It’s not like they can try me for suicide if I’m already gone, right?” He grins playfully; Kevin feels nauseous. “My things here, I want given to Elder Poptarts; it says so in his letter. He can burn them for all I care, but I don’t want anyone else getting their hands on them. Um… is there anything I’m forgetting?” Pursing his lips, McKinley shakes his head. “I think that’s all.”

“Is that it?” Kevin chokes out, looking over at him. “Just… do it?”

“What? Oh my, no! I wouldn’t want to get blood all over the sofa! How careless do you think I am?” McKinley shakes his head, and Kevin sees that the maniacal light from the night before is back in his eyes. _At least he knows what he’s doing_.

“Come on,” he says, and walks out of the living room as if he’s not marching to his death. Even in Kevin’s suicidal daydreams he never imagined being quite so chipper about ending his own life. But he follows, the pistol in his grip. McKinley enters the boiler room at the end of the hall, pressing himself to the back of the filthy space, and gestures for Kevin to follow. There isn’t a boiler in there, of course; even before District Nine’s fall from grace the Church was not that generous. But the pipes are still there, making the space useless for anything except for a collection of spiderwebs and dust. “See?” Elder McKinley says. “No muss, no fuss. No one ever uses this room anyway.” He looks inordinately pleased with himself to have found a space in which to die that will inconvenience as few people as possible. Kevin’s grip on the gun grows tighter.

“Is there anything else you…” he trails off, unsure of what to say. What do you ask of someone on death row? “Do you want a minute to pray?”

McKinley pauses in straightening his uniform, tilting his head in thought.

“I do, yes,” he says. “Thank you, Elder. If you could just step out for a minute? I promise I’ll make it quick.” He smirks. “After all, I’ll get another chance to talk to Him in a few minutes, won’t I?”

Kevin can’t bring himself to nod.

He steps out, closing the door as far as it will go; there’s a crack, though, because whoever constructed the house never sanded the door down to fit the frame. Through it he can hear Elder McKinley’s mumbled prayer, and he closes his eyes against the sound.

 _Heavenly Father_ , he thinks, but he knows by now that even if He is there, He never answers. It’s habit, though, to reach out for Him when things are too hard or confusing or difficult to be dealt with alone. Too bad reaching out never helps.

 _If even Elder McKinley can feel this way_ , he thinks, _what hope is there for anyone else?_

He hopes God hears that one.

“Thank you for waiting, Elder,” McKinley says, shoving the door open again. “Now, are you ready?”

Kevin just walks in, holding the gun in a white-knuckled grip.

Elder McKinley kneels, up against the back wall, and looks up at Elder Price like it’s him he’s praying to.

“Aren’t you going to get a rag?” he asks.

For what feels like the first time, Kevin feels something other than horror.

“What?” he asks. His voice is hoarse from absolutely nothing.

“To wipe down the gun with,” Elder McKinley explains, all too reasonable. “I don’t want you connected with this in any way. Here’s the story: you were sick, in bed, and you heard a strange noise from down here. You walked into the hallway, saw the light on in here, and headed down, only to see what I was about to do. You tried to stop me, but it was no good. All right?”

“All right,” Kevin echoes. He strips off his shirt and wraps the handle of the gun in it. “I’ll say I took it off to try and stop the bleeding.”

McKinley smiles, soft and sweet. “You would do that, wouldn’t you? If you didn’t know what was going to happen. You’d try to make it better, wouldn’t you?”

Kevin doesn’t say anything; Elder McKinley sighs. “Well, take the safety off, then.”

Kevin does. His hands are shaking, and Elder McKinley lays one of his own over them, comforting.

“I really appreciate you doing this for me,” he says. “And, I want you to know, I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.”

Kevin looks away. “Anything else?” he mutters, lifting the gun up.

“Point it at my temple,” McKinley commands evenly. “And… could you call me 'Connor', just this once?”

“Connor?”

“It’s my first name. Just… if you could tell me something, and use my given name…”

“...I don’t want you to die, Connor.”

Now it’s Connor’s turn to look away. “You’re just saying that,” he murmurs, color rising in his cheeks, “but thank you, Elder.”

Kevin’s hands are shaking so violently he has to bite his lip to keep his focus. He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body anymore; someone else lifts the gun and presses it firmly to McKinley’s head; someone else asks again if he’s ready; someone else takes a deep breath at the elder’s nod.

“Goodbye,” someone else says, tears clouding their voice, and someone else hears “Goodbye, Kevin,” as they watch McKinley close his eyes for the last time.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other elders hear gunshots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: needles, ableist language, unintentional mistreatment of a mentally ill person, blood mention, rape mention
> 
> Sorry for that cliffhanger. Please enjoy!

“My mom is really good about that, you know? She’s always had a green thumb. Great for gardening, so we always had-”

Elder Davis stops, mid-word, and his eyes snap to Elder Church’s in a panic. They’ve been in Uganda long enough to recognize the sound of a gunshot.

“Was that from-?” Elder Church starts, and Davis nods sharply. _From the mission hut._ They both take off in a dead sprint, running full tilt towards their very possible deaths; none of them believed that after the conversion of the general all other dangers disappeared. But there’s no crowd of men beating down the doors of their home, no smoke rising from the windows, and no more gunshots.

“Elder McKinley!” they call, jumping up onto the small porch. “Elder Price!”

“Help!” someone calls, and they rush inside.

They reach the hallway, and- “Oh, Heavenly Father,” Davis gasps.

There’s no blood, no strangers holding their friends hostage; they’re not under attack. But Elder McKinley looks as pale as a sheet of paper, and he’s holding something in his arms that looks like Elder Price. It’s dressed in his clothes, minus a shirt, and it has his features, his hair and his build. The person’s head turns, though, and there is nothing familiar in his eyes, nothing at all. There is something very, very wrong with him; both of them can tell at a glance.

“What happened?” Church cries, lunging forward to help Elder McKinley.

“I don’t know,” McKinley cries. “I don’t know, I don’t know. He was… I thought he was okay. He- he wasn’t fine, but, I… he never said otherwise, I don’t know… I’m sorry for firing the gun,” he says, glancing up at the newly formed hole in the ceiling, “but I didn’t know how else to get you here.” He looks down at the figure in his arms again, a look of blind terror on his face, and Davis understands.

“I would have done the same thing in your place,” he mutters. “Do you think you two can carry him to his bed? I’ll go get Gotswana.”

The front door slams open, making them all jump; in comes Arnold, breathing hard, with Poptarts right behind him.

“Wh- what,” he gasps, doubled over, and then he sees. “Kevin?”

And Elder Price starts to laugh. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs, his eyes blank and distant as he lays there limply in McKinley’s arms. He laughs as he jabs his nails into the sockets of his eyes before Davis can grab his hands. He laughs through Elder McKinley’s scream, and he laughs as he struggles, fighting to get away from the elders’ strong grip; he laughs when he draws blood from their arms.

When Elder Davis was seven years old, he had gone to a friend’s house and was offered the forbidden fruit of DC cartoons. At first, he had enjoyed it immensely, reveling in the the thrill of watching Batman defeat the Joker with his fighting skills such as he’d never seen before, but then the Joker had laughed. Davis had never been able to forget what he had heard that night through the television’s speakers, even though he had made his friend turn off the TV immediately.

He hears the same laughter now.

“Somebody go for Gotswana!” he yells, struggling to keep Elder Price’s hands at his sides. “We have to get him to a bed. Come on!”

It’s a wonder how they get him to his room; Elder McKinley looks like he very well may pass out any second now, not like he could help carry a fully-grown man. But they manage it somehow. Davis throws all of his weight into pinning Elder Price’s arms down, but he’s not sure how long he can hold.

“Should we get something to… to tie him down?” Elder Church asks. He swallows nervously, but looks prepared to do it, if needed.

_This is so far outside our basic training._

“No,” Davis grits out. “He might hurt himself. But we need to get Gotswana here, stat.”

“Poptarts is on it,” Church assures him. “But… what are we going to do?”

Davis can’t spare the effort to shrug. He has no idea what he’s doing, and it’s terrifying to see a body on a bed that he should recognize but can’t. “I don’t know,” he mutters, holding Elder Price down.

Then McKinley whimpers, and both of them turn to him. He’s crying, face scrunched up unrecognizably, and without a word, Elder Church leads him out.

Elder Davis is left alone with Elder Price. He’s still laughing.

*****

Poptarts bursts into Gotswana’s home-office, red-faced and breathless. The doctor stares at him blatantly as he tries his best to stop panting. He’s not sure he’s ever run so much in his life. “Elder-” he gasps, “Elder, Elder Price-”

Gotswana’s on his feet before he can say more, reaching for his canvas satchel of equipment. “Tell me on the way,” he commands, striding out the door.

Taking another deep breath, Poptarts turns to jog after him. “He… he’s gone crazy!” he cries, dogging Gotswana’s heels.

“I have a sedative in my bag,” the man replies.

“G- good,” Poptarts says, just before deciding that if he wants to make it back to the mission hut in the same hour as Gotswana he’s going to have to conserve his oxygen.

He can still watch, though, and he notices that Gotswana doesn’t seem surprised at all when they burst in to find Elder Price thrashing against Elder Davis’ hold, reciting the book of Enos word for word. The doctor merely forces Elder Price’s head to the side, swipes a cleaning swab across his skin, and calmly injects him in the neck with a syringe that he fishes out of his bag.

It’s only a matter of seconds before Elder Price goes limp, and his words start to slow, and stumble. Hardly a minute later he’s sleeping, chest rising and falling evenly; he is perfectly still. Elder Davis’ and Poptarts’ panting are the only sounds in the room as Gotswana looks the body over clinically. He doesn’t say a word to them, though, before sweeping out into the living room.

“Elder McKinley!” he shouts.

Elder Church shushes him. “Elder McKinley isn’t feeling well, Elder Gotswana. He was the one who found-”

But Gotswana shakes his head. “He is the one in charge, yes?” he asks. “He keeps you all in line?”

The other elders nod, glancing over at each other.

“Then I need to speak with him.”

So Poptarts goes to fetch his mission companion, letting Elder McKinley lean on him as they make their way back to living area from their shared room.

“Elder McKinley,” Gotswana says imperiously, “Elder Price is out of his fucking mind. I have given him a sedative, but once he wakes up, he’s your problem. Keep him calm, and maybe no one will die.” He frowns. “And call me if he gets like this again.”

And then he’s gone, slamming the door behind him. Elder McKinley makes a broken noise before slumping in Poptarts’ less than capable arms. The two of them shuffle to the sofa, collapsing onto it, and Poptarts holds his district leader close.

When he glances around, the other elders look somewhere between nauseous and horrified, but Elder Cunningham is on the verge of tears.

“Out of his mind?” he echoes. “He can’t be out of his mind; he’s Kevin Price! Elder Price doesn’t… well, he does some stupid stuff, but he’s not crazy!”

No one protests otherwise.

“If… well, what _was_ that, then?” Elder Church asks. “Do people lose their minds like that?”

There’s not really an answer for a moment, but then Neeley pipes up, and they all lean forward to hear his soft-spoken words.

“It’s a psychotic break,” he says. “At least, I think it is.”

“What _is_ that?” Elder Cunningham asks.

“It’s when someone… loses their connection to reality.” Elder Neeley fidgets as everyone else gasps.

“So he really has lost his mind?” Poptarts ventures, flinching as Elder McKinley cringes at the question.

“No, not necessarily; he’ll probably be just fine. But, um, he’s not… he’s not really _here_ right now, if you know what I mean. He probably wouldn’t recognize any of us. It… it depends on how strong his delusions are, but… the way my dad always said, he’s more lost _in_ his mind than… yeah,” Neeley trails off, watching the others elders’ faces.

Poptarts can hardly contain his horror. “How did this happen?” he asks, unashamed when his voice squeaks. “What’s wrong with him?”

Elder Neeley shrugs miserably, averting his eyes. “I don’t know, Elder. I’m just giving my best guess, and I don’t even know if it’s right.”

Another uneasy silence falls over the group, and Poptarts isn’t sure how much more he can take.

“Okay!” he bursts out. “Okay, yeah, this is bad, but it’s Elder Price! He’s not… I mean, he’s…” He’s not really sure where he’s going with this sentence, but everyone’s looking at him and if no one else is going to talk he has to say _something_. “Elder Price is tougher than we give him credit for, I’m sure of it. And, if Elder Neeley is right, it’s not going to last forever, is it?”

Neeley nods, and Poptarts sighs in relief.

“See? He’s not dying, you guys. This is good news! It’s all going to be okay.” The others don’t look convinced. “It’s all gonna be okay. How long is it going to last, Elder Neeley?”

“It… it could be anywhere from a few days to… to forever. But, if it really is a psychotic break, then it’ll ease up, probably. His, uh, symptoms are pretty intense, I think.”

“You see? A few days, elders. Everything will be just fine in a few days.” But not even Poptarts believes that. What they just saw is not something any of them can easily forget, and he just knows Elder Price is far too proud to accept whatever help he’s going to need afterwards.

“Uh…” Elder Cunningham says. “What causes, uh, stuff like this?”

Neeley sighs. “For Elder Price, and… and as long as this is the first time, then… it’s either because of some other mental illness, or severe stress.”

And both Elder McKinley and Elder Cunningham make weird choked noises, with McKinley turning to bury his face in Poptarts’ shoulder.

“Elder Cunningham?” Poptarts prompts, patting McKinley’s back as comfortingly as he can, “is there something you want to share?” Poptarts doesn’t think of himself as a leader in any way, shape, or form, but Elder McKinley was probably traumatized for life by Elder Price’s… insanity, and the other elders look too dumbfounded to even speak, much less try to form a solid plan for what they’re going to do next. Although all Poptarts can think is _thank Heavenly Father no one’s dying_ , he figures he’s got the most experience of anyone in the room when it comes to life-changing diagnoses. Besides, he never really liked Elder Price that much anyway. If that dislike can keep him grounded, well...

Elder Cunningham laughs nervously, wringing his hands. “I, uh… I mean, kind of? It’s just, I don’t know if Kevin would want me to tell you- Elder Price! I mean Elder Price, I don’t call him by his actual name, of course not, I only break the rules that are- um. He’s kind of… I mean, I dunno. But, uh...” And then he mumbles- _something_.

“Um… “ Poptarts blinks, instinctively turns to where Elder Price should be, ready to ask for a translation, and stops short at the too obviously empty chair. “Could you repeat that, please?”

Elder Cunningham sighs, clasping and unclasping his hands together rapidly. “I said, Elder Price has a big secret that he kind of told me, and it’s a really big deal and he probably doesn’t want me to tell you, but maybe it’s why… this is happening.”

So, invade Elder Price’s privacy and maybe figure out why this is happening, or let him keep his secrets and stay in the dark. And that’s provided Elder Cunningham is actually telling the truth. Poptarts decides right then that being a leader is overrated, and he’s done with this position, thank you. Luckily Elder Michaels pipes up, saying “I think we should hear whatever it is, Elder. It’s better to know than not, right?”

“Yeah, and besides,” Elder Church chimed in, “we’re trying to help him.”

“Okay…” Elder Cunningham drawled, looking uncertainly at Poptarts and McKinley, who is still mashed against his side, “but it’s not pretty.”

Davis snorts, looking like he would roll his eyes if he were allowed to. “Neither was what we just saw, Elder.”

Elder Cunningham bobs his head, probably trying to nod. “Okay… you’re right, you’re definitely… I just, what if he- no, you’re right! I shouldn’t have kept it to myself in the first place, probably, but what are you supposed to do about stuff like this in _Uganda_ ? And he did go to Gotswana, so…” Poptarts bites back an ‘oh’ of understanding. Whatever this thing is that has happened to Elder Price, if he went to Gotswana about it, then Gotswana probably knew in advance that Elder Price would do something like this. It explains his lack of surprise, anyway. But he makes himself focus as Cunningham visibly shakes himself to get back on topic. “So, uh, Elder Price went missing his first week, remember? When we were doing all those baptisms and everything? And nobody really knew where he went ‘cause I was his companion but he kinda left and then Elder McKinley said it’d be okay for us to not work together?” The others nod; McKinley flinches in Poptarts’ arms again. _Why in heaven’s name does he keep flinching?_ Poptarts wonders. _He doesn’t think this is his fault, does he?_

“Well, uh, r-remember how he said he was gonna save the village, and then we all… walked away?” Cunningham continues.

Warily, the others nod.

“He… he went through with that, I guess.”

Poptarts waits for an explanation, but Elder Cunningham doesn’t say any more.

“I’m sorry to pry, Elder,” Michaels says, “but what does ‘that’ mean?”

The prophet slumps even more miserably into his chair, and mumbles something that Poptarts can’t hear. But Elder Church, who’s sitting next to him, gasps, jumping to his feet. “No!” he says, scandalized, and the other elders mirror him, asking “What? What did he say?”

“He said,” Elder Church replies, looking half horrified and half fascinated, “that Elder Price went to try and convert General Butt-effing-Naked!”

Everyone gasps, even Poptarts, who’s still seated by virtue of having a weepy district leader wrapped around him. “Well, what happened?” he asks, trying to get to the point. Elder Price’s sedative won’t last forever, and if they’re going to help him, they need to know as much as they can. He doesn’t want to be kept in the dark for longer than he has to be.

“I…” Elder Cunningham hesitates, and the other elders sit back down. “I don’t _know_ , not for sure, but… uh, when he got back, after we decided to stick with the Church of Arnold and everything, he started having nightmares? And, uh, I only know ‘cause he sorta screamed the first time and it woke me up. But then, uh, I was kinda on edge, right? So the next couple nights, when it kept happening, I woke up, too, but I pretended I was asleep, ‘cause Elder Price got mad that I woke up the first time. And, uh, it was kinda dark, but, you could see the moon through the window, I guess, and he got something from under his bed, and… it was an x-ray.”

“An x-ray?” Davis echoes. “Why on earth would he need an x-ray?”

“Yeah, well, that’s the thing,” Cunningham says, hunching his shoulders. “He… uh, I think the general, um… did something to him.”

“Something like what?” Elder Church prompts; they’re all on the edge of their seats.

But then, so fast Poptarts would have missed it if he blinked, Elder Cunningham looks to his left. “He, uh… I think he raped him.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

“Elder Cunningham…” Elder Church starts, looking to his companion Michaels uncertainly, “You really shouldn’t lie about something like this. Elder Price is really suffering right now.”

“I’m not lying!” he cries, jumping up. “I swear on, on the _Book of Mormon_ I’m not!”

Poptarts’ eyes go wide. Elder Cunningham _is_ lying, he knows, but he must really, really want them to believe that the lie is true. And if _that_ is the lie… how bad is the truth?

“But Elder,” Church replies, “that’s not possible. It can’t be rape if it’s… external.”

Elder Michaels and Elder Neeley both sigh.

“Do you not know how gay sex works?” Elder Michaels asks, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world.

“Of course I know!” Elder Church splutters. “It’s… it’s, well, hands or… or mouths, right?”

Neeley buries his head in his hands.

“There’s another way,” Michaels replies, “and I’m guessing that’s what Elder Cunningham means, right?”

Cunningham nods miserably.

Davis and Church look as lost as Poptarts feels. “What’s the other way?” he asks, looking between the three who seem to know.

Neeley doesn’t look up, and Elder Michaels fidgets in his seat uncomfortably. “Well…” he starts. “I, uh, never thought I’d have to explain this.” And then, of course, he looks to Elder Cunningham.

What has the world come to that they look to Elder Cunningham for guidance?

“It’s… um… well, when you have two guys…” he says, cheeks bright red, “one is on top, and the other… isn’t. And… uh, it’s… it’s… penetrative.”

Poptarts squeaks. “Are you serious?” he asks. Cunningham nods frantically, obviously relieved that he doesn’t have to explain further.

He’s not sure if he should be more disgusted or more in awe of gay men now. That’s… well, it sounds like it would take some determination. He has a fleeting moment of curiosity as to how exactly that would feel, but then he puts together all the pieces and cries “That would really hurt!”

Again, Cunningham nods. “Yeah… and I think that _that_ , with… everything else,” he waves his hands vaguely, “Elder Price probably… well. Yeah.”

 _No wonder_ , Poptarts thinks. _No wonder he’s going crazy._

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about,” Elder Davis says, glancing between Poptarts and Cunningham. “Will someone just say it?”

“Up the butt,” Elder Neeley says. “It’s when a man puts his penis in another man’s butt.” Poptarts almost laughs hysterically at that. That _Elder Neeley_ would be the one to say it that way says a lot about this situation, he thinks.

Davis looks like he might just puke. “That’s-” he starts, but then Poptarts tilts his head towards Elder McKinley in reminder and he stops. “Um.”

“...why?” Elder Church asks, pale but brow furrowed with curiosity.

“That’s not really the point of this conversation!” Cunningham says, and Poptarts silently thanks Heavenly Father. “The point is that Elder Price is… not in a good place, and we need to figure out what to do!”

“Is there anything we can do but pray?” Elder Michaels asks. “I don’t know anything about psychology, but… well, the only one of us who does is Elder Neeley.” He looks at each of them, eyes desperately wide. “What do you do for someone who’s been…?”

“Well, maybe we should put ourselves in his shoes?” Elder Cunningham suggests. “For empathy and stuff. Ooh! What if I put that in the Book of Arnold? We should probably all have more of that. Empathy, I mean. Bad time, sorry. But we should pretend we’re Elder Price, and pretend that… whatever the general did happened to us, and think what we would want.”

“Is that going to work since Elder Price isn’t really _here_ right now?” Davis asks, frowning.

“Listen,” Elder Neeley mutters, finally uncovering his face and running his hands through his hair, “he’s still a person, all right? Just because he normally has narcissistic tendencies and has been through a traumatic experience doesn’t mean he’s suddenly not human anymore. What rape is about is control. Elder Price had control taken from him in a sexual situation, and now, he’s lost control over his mind. What he’s going to want is that control back. But there’s a reason he’s not connecting with reality right now, and it’s because his mind decided he couldn’t handle it. All we can do is reassure him, tell him the truth, and treat him like a human being, okay?”

Neeley’s almost glaring as he finishes his speech, and seeing as Poptarts at least has never heard that many words from him in that loud of a tone before, he’s not inclined to disagree.

“That probably means someone should stay with him,” Poptarts says, “at least until he… comes back to himself.”

No one looks thrilled, but Poptarts really doesn’t care. “Elders, really, just because we’re a little scared doesn’t mean that we need to make Elder Price suffer for it. He’s our brother in the church, and we need to help him.” Of course, no one had missed Elder Price’s obvious doubt, but he’s still here, right? He didn’t leave the second he started questioning his faith. He just… tried to. “He would do the same for us, and you know it. Now, there’s seven of us, and twenty-four hours in a day. If we did six shifts, one person could take a day off each day, and each shift would be… four hours, I think. We can sit with Elder Price for four hours at a time, right?”

He sees one tentative nod and counts that as good enough. Yeah, they’re going to break rule 72, but does the Church of Arnold even have a rule 72? Probably not, since Elder Cunningham hadn’t said anything this afternoon when Elder Price stayed behind. Does that rule even count during emergencies?

He’s not cut out for this leadership thing; why isn’t McKinley up and ordering people around yet?

But then Elder McKinley finally straightens, brushing down his rumpled shirt, and he says “I’ll take the first shift.”

His voice is painful to listen to.

“Um… are you sure?” Poptarts asks. He doesn’t want to question his district leader, but maybe it’s not the best idea for Elder McKinley to be stuck with Elder Price for the next four hours. After all, nobody knows what he’ll be like when he wakes up, and Elder McKinley is obviously affected by what he saw.

“I want to,” he says, and, well, Poptarts isn’t going to argue with him.

“Okay, Elder,” he says, and his companion slips away down the hall. “So, who wants the next shift?”


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arnold shares Kevin's x-ray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. This story is stalled at Chapter 6.  
> I'll try to at least finish that one, but, in the meantime, have some more angst. And Poptarts.

Elder Cunningham knows he’s supposed to be out proselytizing, and if he’s not doing that then he’s supposed to be getting the rough draft for the Book of Arnold hammered out, and if he’s not doing that then he’s supposed to be with Naba. Well, not _supposed_ to be, more like he told himself he wanted to be. Not that he didn’t want to be! But he told himself it would be okay to spend his spare time with her, even though he’s on his mission. After all, people don’t usually meet their soulmates on their missions, do they?

He feels a little weird referring to Naba as his soulmate (especially because he still has some trouble pronouncing her name), even if it’s just in his head, but then he’ll see her again or she’ll talk to him or even hold his hand and then he doesn’t feel bad about it at all.

But he’s not doing any of the things he’s supposed to be doing, even if it’s not his shift yet, because his mission companion is lying sedated on his bed at eight forty-three at night when he normally wouldn’t be in bed until ten, and Elder McKinley is sitting by his side looking like the most miserable guy in the world, and Arnold knows there’s no way he could focus on anything else right now.

So he sits on his bed, instead, wringing his hands and trying to figure out a way to help Elder Price. Of course, he’s got nothing when, maybe an hour or so later, Elder Poptarts pops his head in and asks “Hi there, Elder Cunningham, can I talk to you for a second?”, so, hanging his head like a kicked puppy, he goes out to the hallway and prepares to be scolded for neglecting his duties or something. It’s just Poptarts, though; he’s probably the least frightening person Arnold’s ever met in his life. So. maybe not a scolding. Maybe just a half-hearted encouragement for him to stick to his work or live up to his potential. He dealt with worse from his pre-K teachers.

But Elder Poptarts doesn’t scold him or encourage him. He sets his hands on his hips, like he’s Arnold’s dad or something, and says, “Now, I know that the rules for the Church of Arnold are a little different from the Church-from Mormon rules.”

Arnold nods.

“And we’re not really sure how far those rules go yet.”

Arnold nods again. He figured God would let them have a little freedom to figure things out, considering His infinite mercy and all.

“But, Elder, is lying allowed?”

Arnold stops nodding. “Uh…”

“Because, correct me if I’m wrong, you lied about what happened to Elder Price when he was missing, didn’t you?”

 _Busted_.

“I didn’t… I didn’t _really_ lie,” he mutters, shuffling one scuffed shoe against the ground. He’s noticed it’s really easy to scuff the ground here, because there’s dust everywhere. Road dust, you know, like everybody had trudged through mud to get inside, and then it dried on the floorboards and nobody ever cleaned it up. Except it stayed, drifting up against the walls like snow, sometimes, even after they cleaned the whole house, and maybe Uganda is like the Dust Bowl in the 30s, except all the time. Wow, good thing America isn’t like that.  I mean, if you think about it that way, the farmers in the Great Depression didn’t have it that bad because at least things got better eventually.

“Elder Cunningham?”

“Oh, yeah! Sorry! I was just thinking about the 30s and how good things were!” _Comparatively, anyway._

Elder Poptarts nods slowly, frowning. “Anyway,” he says, “I asked why you bent the truth in front of the others, since you said it wasn’t a lie.”

“Uh… well, I kinda… I mean, he didn’t…” What is he supposed to say? There’s a _reason_ he didn’t actually say the whole thing before. “I dunno if Elder Price would be okay with me saying anything. He doesn’t even know that I know, y’know?”

“I know,” Poptarts replies, smirking just a little. Arnold suddenly decides that he likes him, a lot. “But, Elder, I was just thinking about the story you gave us, and I realized that you wouldn’t need an x-ray for a case of… what happened to Elder Price. X-rays are only for things inside the body, like broken bones and tuberculosis. So, unless I’m mistaken, or you lied about seeing Elder Price with an x-ray, he wasn’t- he wasn’t raped, was he?”

Arnold bites his lip. “It, uh, kind of depends on your definition,” he says.

Poptarts frowns. “What does that mean?”

“Well, uh… maybe I should just show you the, the x-ray?”

The other elder hesitates. “Can I just… is he… does he have cancer?”

“What? No!” Arnold realizes a second too late that he’s basically screaming, and claps a hand over his mouth before he can even take another breath. Sure enough, a moment later Davis sticks his head out of his door and oh-so-politely asks Arnold to turn his volume dial down to something that wouldn’t make them all go deaf. He doesn’t add a fake-smile, though, which is a little worrying. Maybe holding Kevin down earlier got to him more than he’s letting on. Maybe Arnold should pray for him?

_Heavenly Father, I pray for Elder Davis, that you’ll help him feel better about what happened with Elder Price. Thank you!_

There, all better. Wait, why did he- Oh!

“Oh, no!” he cries again, muffled by his hand. “He doesn’t- I mean, that’s not what the x-ray shows.”

Poptarts’ relief is almost palpable. “Good. Let's take a look, then.”

“...okay.”

Arnold opens the door, trying to be quiet in case Elder Price is still asleep, but he stops short at the sight of Elder McKinley, his best friend’s hand in his grasp, tears running down his cheeks, whispering a frantic prayer, with his eyes turned towards Heaven. He jumps when he notices Arnold, half-smiling and dropping Kevin’s hand like it burned him.

“I was-” he starts, sniffling. “I… I was just asking Heavenly Father to…”

“It’s okay,” Arnold says, and for once, Elder McKinley seems to welcome the interruption.

“Yes, well,” he replies, wiping his eyes, “is it time to switch?”

“Uh…” he looks back at Poptarts, who shakes his head. “No. Not yet. I was just gonna show Poptarts a thing.”

“Oh,” Elder McKinley replies. “Do… should I go?” He sounds uncharacteristically lost, and Arnold shifts awkwardly in the doorway. He glances at Poptarts again, but the other elder just shrugs.

“...no?” He’s not really sure that Elder Price would want him to show Elder McKinley, but he’s showing Elder Poptarts, too, so, really, what’s one more person? “No. No, you’re… fine. Yeah.”

“...okay,” says Elder McKinley miserably. Arnold winces. Maybe he should have said no?

 _Whatever, too late now,_ he tells himself, going to Elder Price’s bed (should he tell somebody they put Elder Price in the wrong bed? It probably doesn’t matter. At least both their sheets are clean) and pulling a suitcase out from under it. “It’s in here,” he volunteers, and Poptarts smiles, plopping down on the end of the bed and pulling Elder McKinley with him.

“Great. Can we see it, please?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Without further ado, he whips out the battered file folder with the title “Price, K” scrawled across the top. “Here it is.”

He holds it out in offering, but Poptarts only takes it when it becomes clear that Elder McKinley won’t. _Maybe it’s as weird for him as it is for me,_ Arnold thinks. _It’s not fun when your companion starts acting different._

But Poptarts seems to be managing just fine now. He did a great job making sure somebody would be with Kevin all the time, until he gets better, even though Arnold can obviously handle it. The effort is what counts, and that was very nice of him. Arnold needs to thank him. But maybe not when he’s pulling the x-ray out of its folder and holding it up to the dim light of the lamp that sits in one corner of the room (it used to live in the main room until Kevin borrowed it one night to keep reading and never gave it back) and goes as white as paper.

“Um… yeah,” he says pathetically, as Elder McKinley leans forward and squints at the picture.

“Is that…” he says, and then he gasps and goes pale too.

Arnold briefly wonders if either of them is going to pass out.

“It’s a Book of Mormon,” he supplies, rocking back onto his heels.

The other two elders just sit there, gaping at it, and maybe he should have just told them. It would be easier on his knees, anyway.

“Um, guys? I kinda need to put it away.” Finally Elder McKinley looks up, and Arnold nods towards the figure of Elder Price, still asleep on the bed.

“Oh,” he says softly, but he takes the x-ray from Poptarts and hands it over to Arnold easily enough.

After he hides it again, though, things get awkward. Poptarts looks between him and McKinley, as if one of them has the answer to a secret question, but he can only ask one of them and he doesn’t know who’s the right one yet, while Elder McKinley is sort of just… staring at Elder Cunningham’s knee. Which…could be worse.

“Is he in pain?”

Arnold almost jumps at Poptarts’ question. “What? Uh, no, I don’t… I mean, I haven’t asked, but I don’t know. It was a while ago, though, so…” he half shrugs. He remembers the way Kevin walked around, though, that first week or so after… his trip to the general’s camp; he had a limp, and moved so slowly Arnold was able to beat him when they went from house to house. That was what tipped him off to everything, when Kevin asked him to slow down. He’d hardly been able to believe that, after their enthusiastic decision to stay, that Kevin wanted to _slow down_ of all things, but then he saw the pinched frown on his friend’s face and the way he grimaced when he had to bend down or sit anywhere, and he hadn’t said a word. It made it really weird to say anything now, though.

“I didn’t even know that was possible,” Elder McKinley whispers. He’s still looking off into space, and his face is kind of expressionless, but it’s okay because then he looks up and meets Arnold’s eyes and he can see that Elder McKinley is still _there_ and that’s good enough for him. He is sort of hugging himself, though, rubbing his hands up and down his arms like he’s cold even though it’s definitely above 70 degrees right now. That’s kind of worrying.

But then Elder Poptarts pipes up (ha, piping poptarts) and Elder McKinley is looking around and talking and stuff so he’s probably fine.

“Why didn’t you want the others to know this?” he asks, and Arnold sort of shrugs, sitting on the side of Kevin’s bed (the one without Kevin in it, obviously).

“I dunno,” he muses. “I guess it wasn’t so bad if it was just… you know. Something that happened to other people. I don’t think anybody else in the world’s gotten the Book of Mormon shoved up their-”

And then Elder Price moans.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poptarts' world is shaken, and the day from hell finally ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I'll just get the rest of this posted. I don't even know if anybody cares about this story.

“Crap,” Arnold mutters, launching himself off the bed.

Poptarts would say he doesn’t know why he’s freaking out, but the way he jumped at the sound betrays him anyway. Stupid reflexes.

“Hey, Elder Price,” Elder Cunningham says sweetly, taking his hand. “How you doin’, buddy?”

All he gets in response is another groan.

“Should we wake up Elder Neeley?” he stage whispers.

“Uh-uh,” Poptarts replies. “He’s got the shift after mine, and he won’t be happy if we wake him up early.”

“Okay!” Cunningham responds, almost cheerful. Well. Something has to be said for optimism.

It doesn’t come easily to Poptarts, though, especially not when he glances over at his companion to see that his face has lost all its color, and he’s also perfectly still, something Poptarts hasn’t seen in their entire four months in Uganda. “Elder McKinley?” he ventures, but the man just shakes his head.

“I’m fine,” he whispers, still focused on nothing. Poptarts wants to challenge him (kind of, at least as far as finding out what he really means by ‘fine’) but then Elder Price actually half-sits up, not laughing hysterically or chanting verses, and that’s kind of the bigger issue right now.

“Where am I?” he asks, looking around like he’s never seen the bedroom before.

Poptarts winces.

“You’re in Uganda, bu- b- Kev- Elder!” Elder Cunningham replies, smiling brightly.

Elder Price seems to realize then that someone is holding his hand and jerks it away, pressing himself back against the wall in plain fear.

“Who are you?” he whispers, his eyes wide. And blank, Poptarts sees. Slowly, he stands up and goes to Elder Cunningham’s side. He may not be Elder Davis’ size, but two pairs of hands are better than one, should Elder Price try anything.

“It’s your companion, Arnold Cunningham,” Poptarts tells him. He tries for a soothing tone, but it probably sounds more petrified. If Elder Price tries to fight them, he knows there’s no way they can take him down.

Elder Price shows no sign of recognition.

“No,” he says. “No, no, I didn’t… I didn’t do it.”

_What?_

“I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Elder Cunningham shushes him, but he doesn’t even seem to see him, looking over his shoulder to the wall behind.

“I promise I didn’t do anything,” he cries, folding his hands in supplication; he's making his claims to someone who doesn't exist. “See, I- I didn't do it, I swear! It was on him, he said so!" Poptarts doesn’t really know what to do.

But, luckily or unluckily as the case may be, Elder Price’s dream world must change pretty quickly. His words stutter to a halt, and he looks up with fear, hands falling to grasp at the sheets beneath him. “No, I swear I didn’t…” he says. “I only… no, I tried to stop him! I really did!”

He looks so desperate Poptarts can’t stop himself. “Elder Price, it’s okay.”

Strangely, Elder Price seems to hear him this time. “No…” he mutters. “No, it’s not okay, it’s not- it’s not okay, it’s not okay, it’s n-”

And then he screams.

The other elders come running, feet pounding against the linoleum floor, and Elder Price cowers against the wall. He’s saying something Poptarts can’t understand because he’s rushing to the doorway and throwing his arms out, hissing “Get back to bed, all of you!”

The remaining four elders blink at him sleepily. “We heard-” Elder Church starts.

“I know what you heard!” Poptarts snaps. “We’ll try to stop him from doing it again. He doesn’t know us, though, so even more strange people can’t be good for him. Go away!” Slowly, they trudge away, at least one of them making some not-so-nice comments about Elder Price, and he turns back to the room.

Elder McKinley is flattened against the far wall, looking for all the world like a deer who’s seen a hunter’s gun. And no wonder, because Elder Price is half out of bed, pointing at him with a shaking finger. He’s still mumbling, but it’s not until Poptarts and Arnold grab him and manage to get him on his back again, and Elder McKinley slips out, that he asks what just happened.

The question’s supposed to be for Elder Cunningham, but Elder Price answers, throwing one arm out desperately. “Didn’t you see it?” he hisses.

“See what?”

“Blood! It was… it was everywhere...” Poptarts sucks in a quick breath.

Elder Price has started crying, sobbing openly like a young child, and Poptarts is suddenly, fiercely reminded of-

“Elder Price, why did you see blood?” he asks, and even he can hear how frantic he sounds as he tries to divert his thoughts.

“I… it’s… blood,” the man on the bed stammers. “It’s everyw-” Then he goes very, very still, and raises his hands to his eyes.

He doesn’t scream, thank God, but the strangled cry he makes is just as bad. He opens his mouth, maybe to try and say something, but all he does is sob. Slowly, Poptarts reaches out to- to show him his hands are clean, maybe, but he stops because Elder Cunningham pulls him back and mutters “Don’t touch him!” in his ear.

“Why not?” he replies. It can’t just be bothering him, watching Elder Prices fall apart.

“He… he doesn’t like being touched,” the other elder says. Poptarts turns and gives him a look.

“We just wrestled him into bed. I don’t think touching his hands will make anything worse.”

He reaches out again, determined, but Elder Cunningham jerks him back, almost off the bed.

“Don’t touch him,” he repeats, gaze flicking between Poptarts and Elder Price. “Just trust me.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Poptarts asks. “Let him cry?” It’s incredibly pathetic to watch, especially because it’s Elder Price. He didn’t even know the man was capable of tears. And Poptarts has always had a sort of protective instinct, especially with his s- family. Watching others cry and not trying to do anything about it is a particular type of uncomfortable he never thought he’d have to face on his mission.

“I can… uh, deal with it,” Elder Cunningham says.

Poptarts blinks. “How?”

“I was just gonna, um, sing to him?”

“...sing to him.”

“Yeah.”

“He doesn’t know who you are.”

“Well _yeah,_ but music is weird like that. It’s kind of like mind-magic, y’know? Maybe it’ll help him come back, or… yeah.”

“Oh.” That’s actually a really great idea. “You know a good song for that?”

“Obviously, yeah.”

Poptarts smiles, relieved. “Okay. Give it your best shot, then.”

To his credit, Arnold doesn’t even hesitate, jumping right in with a half-decent, if a little whiny, voice. “Evening star shines brightly, God makes life anew, tomorrow is a latter day, and I am here for you.” It’s a sweet melody, and not half bad to listen to, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect on Elder Price.

His eyes are still wide and blank, like he’s looking right past them both, but there’s a look of horror on his face that’s really starting to get to Poptarts.

“What is he looking at?” he asks Elder Cunningham, fidgeting uncomfortably. _How am I going to sit through four hours of this, by myself?_

“I, uh… I don’t know.” He sounds pretty disappointed that his song doesn’t work, so Poptarts doesn’t want to push him, but on the other hand…

No, he can’t expect Elder Cunningham to always do the dirty work when it comes to Elder Price. And Elder Neeley clearly said they need to treat him like a human being, right? That means talking _to_ him, not around him.

Screwing his courage to the sticking place, he asks “Elder Price, what's wrong?” in as understanding of a voice as he can manage.

To his surprise, Elder Price looks up and _at_ him, as if he’s realized for the first time he’s there.

“I’m s-sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Elder,” Poptarts replies, resisting the urge to pat his arm in comfort. “Elder Cunningham and I are just trying to help.”

“N-no!” he cries, lifting his hands again. “You can’t… stay away! Don’t you see the blood?”

Poptarts shudders. _At least he’s talking._ “Elder Price, I don’t se-”

“Oh!” Elder Cunningham squeals. “It’s like from our first real day in Uganda, when we saw that guy get shot in the face by the ge- by Elder Butt-effing Naked.” He glances over at Poptarts for reassurance. “Maybe that’s what he’s…?”

Poptarts grins. “I bet you’re right,” he replies. After all, it would make perfect sense. Elder Price never seems to have had any problems before he arrived in Uganda, and his first week put a lot of pressure on him. He’s probably just re-imagining that week, like a very strong, very bad daydream. “Maybe we should offer him a shower?”

Elder Cunningham grins. “Hey, yeah! I bet that would work.”

So Poptarts turns to the bed again, and he starts “Elder Price-”

But then Elder Price grabs him, gripping his forearm firmly, and he says “I’m so, so sorry, Poptarts.”

Poptarts jerks away before he can even think. “Elder Price…?”

“I am so sorry,” Elder Price replies, not bothering to wipe away the tears on his cheeks. “I didn’t want to, you have to understand. I didn’t want to!”

“Elder Price, you need to-”

“No! You have to… I’m sorry, Poptarts. He told me to tell you.”

“He?” Elder Cunningham echoes.

But Elder Price ignores him, taking hold of Poptarts’ arm again and watching him so earnestly that he can’t look away.

“Poptarts, please…” he begs, “Please. I didn’t want to, I had no choice. You have to understand! I couldn’t… I had no choice. But he told me to take care of you.”

Cunningham gasps. Poptarts can’t breathe.

“He told me to. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I… I can’t. I can’t, there’s too much, and I… not with his blood on my hands.” His final words are so tremulous, Poptarts barely hears them. But then Elder Price visibly shakes himself, and sets his jaw, and he looks so much like himself that Poptarts thinks for a second that he’s telling the truth. “He told me to make sure you’re okay,” he continues, voice wet and hoarse. “You have to promise you’ll be okay, Poptarts.”

“I… I’m fine, Elder,” he stammers. He pushes Elder Price aside, standing and walking away.

“You have to promise!” Elder Price calls, hands fisting in the sheets. His face twists in anger, and Poptarts can’t keep watching.

“I promise.”

Then there is silence.

Elder Price sits back against the headboard. “Thank you,” he says, apparently mollified.

“Sure,” Poptarts replies. He clears his throat harshly, and Elder Cunningham scurries to his side.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, gaze whipping back and forth between Poptarts and the bed.

“Yeah,” Poptarts says blankly. “I’m fine.”

“What _was_ that?” Elder Cunningham asks. “Did you… do you know what he’s talking about?”

“I have no clue.”

“Huh.” Elder Cunningham rocks back and forth on his heels for a bit. “I don’t think it’s gonna work, but we could ask…?”

Poptarts shrugs. He hasn’t been this shaken in a long time; he can’t find the right words anymore.

“Hey… Elder Price…” Cunningham ventures. “Do you want a shower, maybe? To, uh, get all the blood off? We could get you a new uniform?”

Poptarts opens his mouth to repeat the request for Elder Price’s sake, but the man shakes his head, closing his eyes in what looks like exhaustion.

“Take care of him first,” he says. “Blood doesn’t come out well unless you get it right away.”

Instinctively, Poptarts looks down at his outfit. It’s smudged with dust, and there’s patches wet with sweat in too many places, but there’s no blood on him anywhere.

“I’m sorry for getting it on you,” Elder Price mutters, throwing his head back until his thuds against the wall. “I forgot I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Poptarts replies. He holds out his arm, observing it like he might be able to see what Elder Price sees. There’s nothing, though; not a drop of blood.

“I’m, um… I’ll just go wash this off, then,” he says, trying for his normal tone. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to start freaking out now. “Elder Cunningham, will you stay with him?”

Cunningham bobs his head enthusiastically, and Poptarts heads to the bathroom. He takes a deep breath once he gets inside, turning the only lock in the mission house. It makes him feel a bit safer, even though if Elder Price really wanted to he could probably break it down.

He doesn’t actually think that Elder Price is going to hurt anyone, of course. Doubting Thomas and reckless risk-taker he may be, but he’s still a Mormon, born and raised, and he’s not a bad guy. But who knows what Elder Price is actually seeing when he looks at him? Yeah, he recognizes him, but he also seems to think that there’s blood everywhere. Poptarts knows for a fact that Elder Price didn’t talk to him at all the day that he left, the day that Kalimba’s husband was shot, so why would he connect Poptarts with that man’s death? And who would have asked Elder Price to take care of him?

Maybe there’s no method to Elder Price’s madness. After all, there’s no blood, and he had panicked at the sight of Elder McKinley. But he did recognize Poptarts, and he was so determined that he needed to be okay…

It’s the most humanity he’s ever seen from Elder Price. Heck, it’s only the second selfless thing he’s seen from him, too, with the first being him accepting his place as Arnold Cunningham’s companion. And it was for _him_.

Mechanically, he washes away the invisible blood and heads back to the bedroom.

Elder Cunningham is enthusiastically retelling something, doubtless a new fable for the villagers or inspiration for one, but Elder Price is still in the same position as when he left, eyes closed and head thrown back.

“Um… hey there, Elders,” he says, closing the door behind him.

Elder Price’s eyes snap open. “You got it all off?” he asks. His gaze sweeps over Poptarts, critical and sharp, and then he smiles, ruefully and apologetically. “I’m sorry you had to do that, Elder,” he says.

“It’s fine,” Poptarts replies. “Would you like a shower?”

Elder Price’s face changes curiously; he looks almost relieved. “You’re not mad at me?”

 _Gosh_ , Poptarts thinks. _If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he sounds… scared._

“Of course not, Elder Price,” he says reassuringly. “There’s nothing to be angry about. You’re just having a rough time, is all.”

The other man doesn’t respond for a second, but then he scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “The others have it worse,” he says. “The villagers, I mean. And you. And Elder Church. And…” He stops.

Poptarts is… confused, to say the least. Who is this guy, putting the misfortunes of others first? “What do you mean?”

“Everyone has problems,” Elder Price replies, “and mine aren’t more important than anyone else’s. I was an idiot to think they were.” He huffs again, almost smirking. “Jesus was right; I am a dick.”

Elder Cunningham stifles a laugh with a poorly executed cough.

“When did Jesus say that?” Poptarts asks. It seems like too blunt of a revelation for normal prayer, but if it comes from the elder’s delusions, then is that how he sees himself? Poptarts almost laughs at the idea.

“During my… well, not my _first_ hell dream,” Elder Price says. “But my first hell dream here in Uganda.”

So Elder Price knows where he is now. _That’s… is that good?_ Poptarts has no clue.

“Um… hey, Elder, just out of curiosity, what day is it?”

Elder Price frowns. “It’s Wednesday, isn’t it? November… oh, shoot. What day is it, Elder Cunningham?”

Elder Cunningham’s head snaps up in attention. “The 17th, Elder Price!”

“The 17th. Thanks, Elder.”

Poptarts has to try a few times to get any words out. “Elder Price, what… can you tell me what happened today?”

Elder Price gives him a funny look, like he’s the crazy one for asking. “What do we normally do on Wednesdays, Elder Poptarts?” he says. “Proselytize, proselytize, and proselytize, with a healthy serving of reflection and prayer thrown in.”

“You don’t remember anything… weird?”

His frown deepens. “No, I don’t believe so. Why?”

“Well. Aren’t you a little curious why I’m in your room, past lights out?”

“Oh, yeah. Why _are_ you in here? And where is your companion? You really should be following the rules, until Arnold says otherwise.”

_What on earth is he doing?_

“Elder Mc-”

“Poptarts and I are working on an experiment!” Elder Cunningham cries. “We’re, uh, testing the bounds of rule 72, seeing if it’ll work in the new church, you know?”

Elder Price smiles his professional, public smile. “Good idea, buddy. Personally, I always thought that rule was a little excessive to begin with. All right, well, if there’s nothing you need me for, I think I’ll go take a shower now. The mosquitoes were vicious today; I can still feel them crawling all over me.” He gets out of bed, jauntily striding over to the suitcase (luckily retrieved from the general) that serves as his chest of drawers, to retrieve a clean set of temple garments, and grins at both Poptarts and Cunningham when he stands up again.

“I’ll see you later,” he says, before turning neatly on his heel and walking out the door.

Poptarts falls onto the bed.

On the other side of the room, Cunningham does the same.”Is he… okay now?” he asks, more tentative that Poptarts has heard before.

“I have absolutely no idea, Elder,” Poptarts admits. “Gosh, he just… what? I don’t understand what just happened.”

“That makes two of us,” Elder Cunningham replies. “We should ask Heavenly Father for guidance. He’ll know what to do.”

Poptarts probably shouldn’t be surprised by that, but it’s hard to remember that, even with their separation from the church, that Elder Cunningham is still a man of faith.

“Good idea,” he replies. But when he tries to move, the full day’s exhaustion hits him all at once, so he asks “Can we just pray from here?”

“Sure!” the other elder replies. God bless Elder Cunningham and his acceptance of just about everything. “Do you want me to start?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Poptarts says. _I don’t know if I could come up with anything good right now, anyway._ He doesn’t say that aloud, of course. He’s an _elder_ , he’s supposed to know what he’s doing, and the only reason he doesn’t is because Elder Price (who he doesn’t even really like!) is being weird. But he thinks, if he did say it, that Elder Cunningham of all people would say it’s okay.

“Dear Heavenly Father,” Cunningham says, “first up, hi! Today was a really great day, up until after dinner. Thanks for that. I really loved talking to Naba and figuring out the newest chapter of the Book of Arnold. Thank you for the inspiration. Also, I don’t really know what to do about Mafala? He’s a great guy, but I think he still thinks this is all a joke, and I don’t really know how to reach him. Please help me figure that out, ‘cause it’s making Naba sad.”

Poptarts blinks. _What on earth is he doing? He does remember I’m listening, right?_

“But, uh, thanks for Naba, and thanks for the Book of Mormon and Star Wars and Lord of the Rings and Star Trek and the Missionary Training Center and everything that made my mission possible. And my companion.

“About him… Heavenly Father, I don’t really know what’s wrong with him, but it doesn’t look like fun. He’s crying, Father, and he doesn’t cry normally, so, I dunno, if you could help us out, and make him better, that would probably help a lot. He’s scaring Elder McKinley, I think. But, Heavenly Father, if this is better for Kevin, then I trust you.

“Anyway, thanks for Elder Neeley. How cool is it that he just _knows_ this stuff, huh? Great job on that one, God. And Elder Davis, for being big and strong. Well. Stronger than Kevin, anyway. And thanks for everybody, for being so nice and helping out even when they don’t have to. And, uh, last thing, thanks for Poptarts.” He leans over and whispers “Is it okay if I call you that? The ‘elder’ thing is getting kind of annoying.”

Wordlessly, Poptarts nods.

“Thanks! Okay, God, thank you for Poptarts. He’s doing a great job taking care of everybody, and even though it’s hard he isn’t getting mad at Kevin or Elder McKinley or me, and I think he’s pretty cool.

“I’ll keep you updated, God, but bye for now!” And then… he just stops. No ‘amen’, no blessing, nothing. He turns back to Poptarts, sitting up with a yawn, and says “Sorry. I don’t usually pray out loud like that, y’know? I just kinda talk to God during the day, just like thanks and stuff, questions, and then I try to wrap everything up at night. I try to just mouth the words, ‘cause Kevin keeps his prayers private, but I figured you didn’t wanna just lay there and watch in the quiet, right?”

Poptarts shakes his head.

“Great! Well, I’ll tell you if I hear anything.”

“...what?”

“If God tells me anything. You know, a personal message or anything. A word from Heavenly Father.”

“Oh.” _I didn’t know anybody actually got those._ “Okay.”

The silence that falls then is awkward, there’s no other word for it. But Poptarts has nothing else to say. What _do_ you say to someone who prays about you like that?

But then Elder Cunningham leans over, peering at his face, and says “You look tired.”

Poptarts holds back a scowl by sheer force of will. “I am tired.”

“I can take your shift.”

“You would do that?”

Cunningham shrugs. “I mean, he seems _fine_ now. And he and I never really followed the lights out rule anyway. I can stay up with him if you wanna go to bed.”

“Well…” Poptarts sits up. “If you’re offering.”

Cunningham grins. “Uh-huh! I’ll wake you up if anything happens.”

Poptarts nods, blinking. His vision blurs, and he frowns as he realizes he forgot to take out his contacts. “Okay,” he mumbles, “you do that.”

As he stumbles down the hallway towards his bedroom, he stops short at the sight of the hall closet door. _Now how did that get open?_ Pretty much all the elders are scared of the room; he doesn’t know who would open the door and just leave it that way. He closes it with a shrug before heading back to his room.

He’s quiet, he thinks, while getting ready for bed; the lights are off, per regulation, so he assumes his companion is asleep until he hears “Is it 2:30 already?” and he jumps half out of his skin.

“Elder McKinley, I’m sorry, I didn’t think you were still up,” he says. “But no, it’s… well, I don’t know what time it is, exactly. Elder Cunningham took my shift.”

From the other bed, he hears “That was kind of him.”

“Yeah, it was.” He quickly slips out of his uniform, draping it sloppily over the end of his bed. He’ll take care of it in the morning. “I think he’s a better guy than we give him credit for.”

Elder McKinley doesn’t reply, and Poptarts jumps into bed quickly.

He’s still exhausted, but his companion’s surprise got his heart racing and his thoughts spinning.

“Hey, do you always keep a gun on you?” he asks, suddenly restless.

McKinley doesn’t answer for a second. “Why do you ask?”

“The gun you fired to get us all here, after Elder Price’s… thing. Do you always keep it on you, for stuff like this?”

Elder McKinley takes a deep breath. “I keep it in the desk, in the middle drawer,” he replies.

“Oh.” Poptarts frowns. “So how did you get it to signal us with?”

Another small pause. “I ran to get it after Elder Price collapsed.”

“Why didn’t you just fire it in the living room?”

“I figured a hole in the ceiling in the hall would be less troublesome than one in the common area.”

Poptarts nods in agreement, even though he knows McKinley can’t see. “And then you put it back?”

“Yes, Elder.”

Now it’s Poptarts’ turn to hesitate. “Are you sure you should just leave it there, in easy reach?”

It’s a long, long time before McKinley answers. “Why wouldn’t I?” he says, very, very quietly.

 _He must have a lot of faith in Elder Price._ “You don’t want Elder Price getting a hold of it, do you? Who knows what he could do with it. He could really hurt somebody, or himself.”

Another pause. “No,” Elder McKinley says. “I guess I don’t.”

Poptarts rolls onto his side, looking over to McKinley’s side of the room. “Is something wrong, Elder McKinley?” he asks. _Other than the obvious thing_.

“I think we’ve had enough questions for tonight, Elder. Goodnight.”

“Oh. Goodnight.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please comment/leave kudos, and feel free to shoot me a message at my tumblr (greerian)!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davis cracks under the pressure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... I'm officially out of writing for this. This is all I've got. 
> 
> But hey, if you guys read this and want more, could please comment/message me, so I know? Otherwise I kind of just have to assume that nobody really likes this.  
> Thank you.

Elder Davis has the first shift with Elder Price is the morning, so he checks in with Elder Cunningham, who was supposed to take the shift after Neeley’s.

“How’s he doing this morning, Elder?” he mutters as they sleepily congregate in the kitchen for breakfast. Elder Price hasn’t made an appearance yet, so he wonders if Elder Cunningham should be there, but it doesn’t seem to phase anyone else, including their de facto leader Elder Poptarts and the real leader Elder McKinley, so Davis decides it’s none of his business.

“Oh, he’s doing fine!” Cunningham chirps. “I had to wrestle him out of the shower last night, ‘cause he kept washing his hair over and over, and then he wouldn’t stop with the reciting again, but now he’s okay!” And sure enough, in comes Elder Price, smiling brightly.

“Good morning, everybody!” he says, much more cheerfully than usual. Everyone immediately looks to Elder Cunningham.

“What?” Elder Price asks. “Oh, did I interrupt something? Go ahead, Elder Cunningham.”

“Uh… you didn’t…” He looks around desperately, but no one says a word. They may all be equally confused when it comes to what the heck is going on, but Elder Cunningham is the guy’s companion _and_ the leader of their church, so Davis has no problem with sticking him with responsibility. “Um, so, a new hymn!” he blurts out. “I know that Amazing Grace isn’t technically an LDS, uh, thing, but I think we could change it up, kinda, and add some Arnoldian elements, like, uh… Han Solo and Luke and Leia with the, um, Jawas or something, and, and get a great song out of it! What do you guys think?”

“I think that’s a brilliant idea, Elder Cunningham!” Elder Price responds, practically beaming, and the others mutter in confused agreement. Davis frowns; if this is what he gets to deal with for four hours, it shouldn’t be too bad, but there’s still something unsettling about how enthusiastic Elder Price is for somebody else’s ideas. It isn’t like him, anymore than the constant reciting was, or the unnatural strength he had yesterday. It’s… it’s not right. There’s still something off.

He glances over at Elder Neeley, but the man has his head resting on his arms on the table; he’s never really great in the mornings. So he resigns himself to waiting for his shift and just dealing with what it brings when it comes. It’s only when he settles into his place on the bench, with Elder Church on his right and Elder McKinley at the head of the table to his left, a plate of scrambled eggs and sliced banana in hand, that he sees something weird: Elder Price flinches as he sits in his seat at the foot of the tiny table. “Hey, don’t touch me,” he says to Elder Cunningham, who looks obviously perplexed.

“I didn’t, buddy, I’m just here.” And it’s true. Elder Cunningham’s end of the bench is at least six inches from Elder Price’s chair, so unless he kicked the guy under the table the minute he sat down (which is probably too malicious for Elder Cunningham; the guy’s a teddy bear), Elder Price is just imagining things. Davis’ hand clenches around his fork in anticipation, but Price just frowns and brushes at his arm before digging into his own food. Just as Davis swallows his first bite, though, Elder Price twitches away, towards Elder Michaels. “Elder Cunningham, please,” he says, and now Davis knows it’s got to be all in his head.

“I didn’t do anything, buddy,” Cunningham replies slowly, watching his best friend carefully, and now Davis notices that Elder McKinley is sitting ramrod straight beside him. His eyes are locked on the other end of the table, and he almost looks as bad as when they found him yesterday. _What the heck is going on?_

But Elder Michaels gently shoves Elder Price out of his personal space and the others continue eating like nothing’s happening. Davis doesn’t pick his fork up again, body tensed in case he needs to jump up and grab Elder Price again. He knows something’s wrong, and it’s only a matter of-

“Stop touching me!” Elder Price shoves his chair back so hard as he jumps up that it smacks against the corner of the kitchen counter. “Seriously, Elder, stop it!”

Now everyone’s watching.

“I didn’t touch you!” Elder Cunningham replies. “Nobody’s even that close to you!”

“You’re lying,” Price snaps. “You- you’re touching me right now; get off!” He swats at empty air, and Cunningham looks Davis’ way.

“Maybe you-” he starts to say, but Elder Price cries “Get your hands off me!” and Davis is on his feet in an instant. “By the power of God Almighty, touch me _not_!”

“Elder Price…?” Elder Cunningham tries, but Elder Price’s eyes are blank, and his hands are stretched up like he’s keeping someone at arm’s distance.

“He’s not here right now,” Davis says grimly. _Wonderful._

“The power of Christ compels you!” Price yells, and Davis walks towards him, determined to get

him tied onto a bed or locked in a closet until this all blows over, or at least keep him from hurting anybody.

But then: “No!” he wails, and everyone goes silent and still. His cry is terrifying. “No, wait, please! What are you- No!” Price is backed up against the wall, clutching at it like it will save him from whatever’s going on in his head. He looks, _gosh_ , he looks like a little kid, scared of the dark or something. It’s… if Davis didn’t have scratches down his arms from the guy, he’d say he was helpless. But a cornered animal is a vicious one, and Elder Price is far from powerless right now.

He doesn’t react to Davis’ approach, breathing hard and pressing himself against the wall, but in the second Davis reaches out to grab his arm, before they touch, he looks away from whatever imaginary thing is threatening him and his eyes lock with Elder McKinley’s. Whatever look had been on his face, desperation or fear or panic or some sickening mixture of all of those, completely changes. His jaw goes slack, and his face loses all color; his expression is blank with unadulterated _horror_ , and he screams. It’s absolutely spine-chilling, loud and piercing, and it leaves a ringing in Davis’ ears as he lunges for Elder Price’s arms. But it doesn’t keep Price from fighting back, and it takes everything Davis has to keep him in check.

“Can I get some help here?” he yells, just as the door to the mission hut slams open.

“What the hell?” It’s Mafala Hatimbi.

“Naba!” Elder Cunningham cries, and it sounds like the man brought his daughter along, too. Davis doesn’t spare another thought to either of them until Elder Hatimbi comes to his side and takes one of Elder Price’s arms for himself.

“Come on!” Davis says, and drags Elder Price, kicking and screaming, down to his bedroom, and thank _God_ Elder Hatimbi follows. The minute they get the door closed behind them, Elder Davis shoves Price towards the nearest bed. “Jeez,” he says, breathing hard. “Jeez Louise, Elder Price, what the heck’s the matter with you?” In answer, Elder Price knees him the groin.

“Oh fuck,” Mafala says, and pulls Elder Davis to the other side of the room.

“What the _heck_?” Davis gasps, doubled over, but Elder Price doesn’t seem to have heard.

“S-stay away from me!” he cries, and when Davis manages to make himself straighten up he sees that the man is cowering against the headboard. “Please, don’t… I didn’t mean to!”

“What is this?” Mafala hisses, shoving Elder Davis into the corner furthest from Elder Price. “What has happened to him?”

“We don’t know,” Davis answers, wincing as he realizes the Elder Price busted his lip as well as- other places. “He just… he was sick yesterday, Elder McKinley stayed with him, and then when we got back he was crazy like this.”

Mafala frowns, the lines of his face creasing in concern. “Did you talk to Gotswana?” he asks, and Davis nods sharply.

“Yeah, we got him here as soon as we could. He sedated him, told us Elder Price was out of his mind, and left.” Gosh, Elder Price can pack a punch. He’s going to be sore for _days_ now.

Mafala sighs, sounding older than his age. “Has it let up at all?” he asks, watching Elder Price carefully.

Davis nods sharply. “He seemed okay for breakfast, and from what Elder Cunningham said it gets worse and better. Now, I guess, is worse.”

Elder Price looks pathetic, whimpering and cowering as he is, and both men watch him until he whispers “It… it really hurts,” and Mafala goes to his side.

“Elder Price?” he says, holding out his hands, palms up. “It is Mafala Hatimbi. Do you remember me?”

Elder Price doesn’t respond, and Mafala carefully rests a hand on his back.

“What are you doing?” Davis hisses, tensed and ready to pull him away if Elder Price lashes out, but Elder Price doesn’t move.

Mafala just looks at him, shaking his head. “The boy is in pain,” he says, starting to rub soothingly. “I want to help.”

“You saw what he could do, Elder,” Davis replies. “He’s dangerous!”

“He’s scared.”

“He doesn’t even recognize you!”

“He doesn’t need to. As long as he is not scared of me, I can help.”

Davis opens his mouth to protest, to hold up his scraped up arms as proof of Elder Price’s potential for violence, but he stops as Elder Price sighs, hugging his knees to his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to- it wasn’t… I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please-”

“What is his name?” Mafala asks Davis quietly. “His given name?”

“Uh…” Davis has to think back through Cunningham’s ramblings the night before to find it, but it’s not hard to remember. “Kevin, he said.”

Mafala nods.

“Kevin,” he says, turning fully to Elder Price. “Kevin, are you still in pain?”

To Davis’ surprise, Elder Price nods, hiding his face against his knees.

“Why are you calling him that?” he asks. It’s against mission rules to call an elder by anything but their title, and District Nine is already pushing it by existing at this point.

Mafala frowns. “Let’s see,” he says. “When you were in trouble, Elder Davis, how did your parents call you?”

Davis shifts awkwardly. “By my full name,” he admits, not that he’s actually going to say what it is.

“And when they were happy with you? They used nicknames, or your given name, did they not?”

Davis nods.

“So, Elder Price feels guilty. Maybe it would make him feel better if we used his actual name, like we were happy with him.”

Davis scowls. It’s true that the guy cowering in the fetal position looks more like a Kevin than an Elder Price right now, but that’s so _weird_.

“How do you know that’ll help?” he asks, and Mafala shrugs.

“I don’t,” he answers. “But Kevin replied when I used his name.”

...fair point.

“Fine,” he says. “El- uh, Kevin, do you want some pain killers or something?”

Kevin shakes his head.

“Why not?” Mafala asks with concern.

“Leave me alone,” he answers, curling miserably into himself.

Mafala looks up at Davis, frowning, and Davis shakes his head quickly.

“We can’t do that, Kevin,” Mafala says. “Can you tell us what’s going on?”

For a moment, it looks like he’s not going to answer, and Davis resigns himself to having to watch him lie on a bed for four hours, but then, very quietly and very slowly, Elder Price says “I don’t know who you are.”

Mafala’s comforting hand stills. “Not even Elder Davis?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know where I am,” he says. “I don’t… I don’t know anything. It hurts, though.”

“We could make that better,” Mafala offers.

“No,” Kevin says. “No, I-” He stops, and hides his face again.

“What is it?” Davis asks impatiently. Is Kevin going to be coherent and sensible or isn’t he?

Kevin’s reply is muffled, and Davis has to lean forward to hear it, but it’s chilling when it comes: “I don’t know what I did,” he says, “but I- I did something to d-deserve this.”

“What the…” Davis trails off. He is not cut out for this, not at all. At least when Elder Price was completely out of his mind and thrashing around, he could do something about it; but this? He looks to Mafala helplessly.

“Elder Davis, why don’t you go reassure the others?” he suggests. “And how about you tell them about our idea, to call our friend by his name?”

Without protesting the ‘friend’ title, Davis nods and makes his escape.

All eyes turn to him as steps out into the breakfast area, and he suddenly feels a bit more empathy for Elder Cunningham as of Elder Price’s arrival this morning. He clears his throat, fidgeting with his tie to buy him a minute to collect himself.

“He’s better now,” he says, and there is a collective, muted sigh of relief, “but Mafala says we should call him by his first name.”

“Why?” Poptarts asks. “Does he know that’s against the rules?”

“He… he said something about helping Elder Price feel safe. I don’t know.” It’s not working. Elder Davis takes a deep breath. “Elders, wh- what are we supposed to do?”

Poptarts stands. “We made a plan last night,” he says, a hint of wariness in his voice.

“No,” Davis says. “Who says that’s going to be enough, anyway?”

Neeley takes a step closer to him, but Davis shakes his head. “We don’t know what’s wrong with him,” he continues. “We don’t know what’s going on. He’s… Elder Price is violent, and he’s out of his mind. Can we even do anything about that?”

“Elder Davis, please calm down.”

“No,” he repeats. “No, don’t tell me to calm down. This is not… this is not okay. This is not a calm situation. Nobody ever said we would have to face this. This was not in our basic training!”

“Elder Davis-”

“No! This is not fair! This is not okay! Why are you all acting like it is? I had to hold him down yesterday! He tried to claw his own eyes out. Look!” He holds up his arms, showing the others the red, scabbed scratches there. “He attacked me, because he doesn’t know where he is, or who he is, or anything. You saw him, just now. He’s out of his mind!”

Davis is breathing hard, and all the elders are watching him with wide eyes. All except Poptarts; his eyes are narrowed, and his fists are clenched, like he’s prepared to… to fight him off. They think he’s going do what Elder Price did.

“I’m going for a walk.” He storms out, slamming the door behind him.

*****

The door slams, and Poptarts knows he has hardly a second before somebody will do something; he needs to do something first. Who knows how the others will react if they think Elder Davis won’t come back?

“Elder Neeley, if you would, will you please look in on Elder Hatimbi and Elder Price and make sure everything is all right there? I’m going to go after Elder Davis.”

Neeley glances towards the door. “Are we disregarding rule 72, then?” he asks.

Poptarts straightens his shoulders, hoping beyond hope he looks authoritative. “Until this issue with Elder Price is cleared up,” he says, “rule 72 will be a secondary concern. Is that okay, Elder McKinley?”

His companion looks up quickly, clutching at his own arm like he’s just been chastised, not asked for his opinion. “Yes, that… that sounds fair,” he murmurs, looking away again as soon as their eyes meet.

Poptarts swallows. “All right, then. The rest of you, we can’t let this just… ruin our normal schedule. We need to clean up from breakfast and begin proselytizing as soon as possible.”

The other elders don’t move.

“Elders?”

“What if Elder Davis is right?” Michaels asks, wringing his hands. “We… we really don’t know what’s going on. Should we take him to a hospital?”

Poptarts shakes his head. “The church takes care of its own,” he says. “And we had Gotswana come by, remember?”

“But… Elder Davis. He doesn’t freak out like that.”

Poptarts looks around at the others. Wide-eyed, frozen in place, pale. They’re _scared_.

“...it’s going to be okay, everybody,” he says. “Are you… do you agree with Elder Davis?”

Nobody responds except Elder Church, who gives a little nod.

Gosh, he is _so_ not equipped to deal with this. Why isn’t Elder McKinley doing anything?

“Elder McKinley?” he prompts; the man jumps, as if startled. “As district leader, do you… is there anything you’d like to say in encouragement?”

Suddenly, Elder McKinley is smiling brightly, looking for all the world the way he did yesterday, before this nightmare happened.

“Remember, Elders,” he says, folding his hands neatly, “take every concern to Heavenly Father in prayer, and He will take your burdens. And, if you’re still feeling worried, then just-” he mimes flicking a light switch off, “-turn it off!”

Neeley sighs. “Elder McKinley, I don’t think-”

“Turn it off, Elder!” he chirps. “We can’t have disagreements and strife. We have a mission to fulfill, and just because Elder Price is having a… a difficult time does _not_ mean that we can let ourselves get off task. Do we all understand?”

Everyone nods except Neeley.

“Do you understand, Elder Neeley?” McKinley asks, turning to face him.

Neeley presses his lips together, looking over them all. “I’m going to go check on Elder Price,” he answers, and slips out of the room.

“Everybody remember to pray!” Elder McKinley says cheerfully. “Now, go on; we all have jobs to do. Elder Thomas, please bring Elder Davis back as soon as possible. We can’t allow any slacking off, can we?”

“No, Elder McKinley,” Poptarts replies, out of habit. He thought that having his companion take charge again would be comforting, but this, this unnatural cheer when he was so obviously distracted only a moment before, is more worrying than anything.

“That’s right,” McKinley responds, beaming at him. “Especially not for such silly things as negative feelings. Now, if everyone will just get a move on…” He starts bustling about, taking everyone’s plates.

Poptarts must react outwardly, some sort of response other the sickening twisting of his stomach, because when his eyes lock with Elder Church’s, a fluke of not knowing exactly where to look, he sees pity there. Turning it off has its place; they all know that. Maybe it has its place here, but that doesn’t make it feel any less wrong.

Poptarts turns and walks out the door.

*****

Elder Davis doesn’t know how long it takes Poptarts to find him, maybe half an hour, but it’s long enough for him to cool down. Mostly.

“Hey,” he says as Poptarts approaches the tree he’s parked himself under. “Where’s Church?”

“Cleaning up breakfast, I think,” he replies, sitting down by his side. “Elder McKinley decided that’s what we needed to do, so I’m here, and he’s there.”

“Goodbye, rule 72,” Davis says, mock waving. “It was nice knowing you.”

Poptarts smiles. “Did you actually like being stuck with somebody else all the time?” he asks. “I wouldn’t think you would be that type.”

Davis shrugs. “Elder Church isn’t… he’s a good person, and a good missionary, that’s for sure. But it is hard to get used to, I’ll admit.”

“I understand completely, Elder,” Poptarts replies. “You have no idea what’s like being companions with the district leader.”

Davis huffs, and it’s almost a laugh. “I’d be more scared being paired with you,” he says. “You’re too take-charge to let me get away with not shaving every morning.”

Poptarts gasps. “Do you really do that?” he asks curiously. “Let me see!” He turns and leans in, his breath brushing against Davis’ jawline. “Wow,” he says, chuckling. “I can’t believe I never noticed before.”

Davis half-grins, trying not to blush. “I don’t break too many rules, but that one is just a pain,” he replies, casually brushing one hand over his jaw. It does feel a little rougher than he thought it would; maybe he should shave a little more meticulously for the next few days, in case somebody decides to check. Now is not a good time to start breaking the rules.

To his surprise, Poptarts smiles and nods. “I agree,” he says, “so I would let that one slide, sometimes. But I would not tolerate the mess I see in your room, Elder Davis.”

“Mess? It’s a dirty uniform on the floor, and it’s usually Church’s!” he protests.

“Tsk, tsk,” Poptarts replies, wagging his finger, “excuses, excuses.”   
Davis shoves him playfully, and Poptarts laughs.

“So,” Davis says, sighing, “I guess you’re here to bring me back. Right?”

Poptarts nods, his mouth twisting. “Elder McKinley says we can’t let this get in the way of our work, and that we need to pray.”

“And turn it off?”

“And that.”

“Great.” Elder Davis heaves himself up off the ground, and holds out a hand for Poptarts to take. “I tried that, and ended up storming out, so let’s see if he comes up with a better alternative. When did he decide to take charge, anyway?”

“When I asked him to,” Poptarts replies, starting to walk back towards the house. “He… he wasn’t okay, though. He’s trying to turn it off, but it isn’t working, I don’t think.” He goes silent for a moment, and when Elder Davis glances over, he sees that Poptarts’ brow is furrowed in thought. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“I don’t know,” Davis says. “You saw what I did, and that was just because of holding Elder Price down a couple of times. He was actually _there_ when the guy snapped. And he seemed kind of down before this all happened anyway.”

Poptarts nods. “Except for yesterday.”

“Huh. Was it really yesterday?” It feels… longer.

Poptarts smiles ruefully. “Yesterday evening,” he says. And they fall silent.

The mission hut appears on the horizon, and just as Davis opens his mouth to point it out, Poptarts says “You know, Elder Davis… I don’t really know what you were all upset about earlier, but… last night, when I was sitting with him - Elder Price, I mean - something… something like that happened.”

Davis slows, looking down at the other elder. “Yeah?” he asks.

Poptarts nods. “He… he said I had blood on me. Obviously I didn’t, and Elder Cunningham thought it had something to do with his first week here, with that poor man the general shot, but I had nothing to do with that.”

Davis nods, thinking. He isn’t even sure Elder Price remembered their names that first week, so it wouldn’t make sense for him to think about the dead guy and Elder Poptarts. “But, Elder, it’s not going to make sense, is it? He’s… he’s crazy.”

Poptarts sighs. “Yes, I guess so.”

They walk in silence for the rest of the way.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The elders are not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would highly recommend you listen to Time as performed by Eric Whitacre, live at iTunes Festival, while reading this. It's not culturally accurate or anything, but that sort of sound is what I was thinking for the villagers' song in this chapter.  
> Also, I know it's short, but I have a plan for this fic, now, and I think I'll be able to finish it :)

The rest of the day is subdued. Elder McKinley doesn’t say anything about proselytizing, just smiles and reminds everyone to “stick to their work!”, so the elders end up treating it like a preparation day, spent cleaning and in prayer and contemplation. It’s hard to act like nothing is wrong, though; the random outbursts of sound that come from Elder Price’s room make everyone pause before ducking their heads and hurrying back to work. It’s like hearing your sibling get spanked, Poptarts thinks. You know they’re in trouble, and you don’t really know how to react when you actually have to listen to it. Except, in this case, it’s not a simple punishment, and nobody knows when Elder Price will walk out, tearful and repentant but purged of sin. There’s no guarantee that he will, even.

Poptarts goes back to his reading.

Michaels is supposed to have his shift, followed by Elder Cunningham, but Mafala Hatimbi volunteers to take both of theirs, and stays in the bedroom for the entire day. He comes out for lunch and to talk to Nabulungi briefly, but otherwise, nobody sees anything of him. Is Poptarts curious? Of course, especially because he didn’t think Elder Hatimbi was all that fond of Elder Price, but some things are better left alone, and after Davis’ reaction this morning, he’s going to be the last person to look a gift horse in the mouth.

There’s definitely something about _not knowing_ that makes everything tense, though. The elders address each other in low voices, and if Elder McKinley appears, wandering the house like an eternally-smiling ghost, there’s no talking at all. It’s not natural for them to not know what’s going on; the missionary handbook is stringent for a reason. They are supposed to be able to focus on sharing the gospel and bringing people to the church, not on whether or not one of them is going insane. Everything is scheduled out, to the very time for showering, eating, and reflecting on the day. There’s no time in the schedule for worrying. Yet here they are. Poptarts is worried, and so is everyone else. It’s amazing how one little thing going wrong can throw everyone off so much. He hasn’t seen a single genuine smile since he and Davis got back this morning. And nobody even _likes_ Elder Price.

He sighs, shutting his personal copy of the missionary handbook. He can’t find a single pertinent rule for this situation. Poptarts doesn’t think there’s a procedure for this at all, in any district. Maybe if they were closer to a decent psychiatric hospital... they should have taken him to one right away, looking back, but he’s not even sure if there’s one in Kampala, much less within any sort of reasonable distance. And how were they to know? If he’s honest, he’s never heard of anything remotely like this happening on anyone’s missions, and he’s heard a _lot_ about what can happen. There’s not much people won’t say around you if you’re quiet, short, and constantly smiling. None of those stories included a psychotic snap or whatever Elder Neeley called it.

Poptarts buries his hands in his hair. _Gosh_ … he really needs a poptart. Sneaking a glance over at Elder McKinley (who is either praying or has fallen asleep, slumped against the desk in their room), he decides to chance it and go for a snack.  
He manages to make it to the kitchen without being seen, and he sighs in relief in not having to explain his forbidden stash, but just as he reaches for the cabinet where the box resides, someone knocks on the door. He jumps, smacking his hand against the counter, and he bites back an exclamation. Geez, he’s jumpy. But who is it at the door? As far as he knows, there’s no appointments or meetings scheduled for today. Fighting back his apprehension and pasting on a warm smile, Poptarts opens the door.

His friendly greeting dies on his lips; it looks like half the village is gathered before the front porch. Well… not _half_ the village. But definitely more people than are in the Church of Arnold, even though he recognizes all of its members in the crowd.

“Um, hi there,” he says, trying not to let his smile falter. “Is there something I can do for you all?”

Asmeret steps up onto the planks of the deck, bare feet firmly planted and her baby on her hip.

“We have heard about Elder Price,” she announces.

Poptarts’ hand clenches on the doorknob.

“Oh. Yes, well, he’s… we’re… um, it’s a unique issue-”

Asmeret shakes her head regally, and he shuts his mouth.

“Elder Mafala has asked of the church that we come to help.”

“Elder _Hatimbi_ ,” he corrects. “Wait. What?”

“Elder Hatimbi has asked us to help,” she repeats slowly, as if he can’t understand her English.

“Oh my gosh,” Poptarts whispers without thinking. Now the _entire_ church knows that something is wrong, and, worse, that District 9 can’t handle it. Why didn’t one of them tell Mafala to not say anything?

Poptarts has to grasp at the doorframe to keep himself steady.

“I- I’m sorry, Sister,” he replies, trying for a reassuring smile again. “I think we’ve got everything under control here; thank you for the offer, though.”

Asmeret advances, and Poptarts finds himself falling back within the doorframe.

“Our prophet has taught us to help each other,” she says, staring him down; she’s only Poptarts’ height, but the elder feels like an ant beneath her stare. “But he says nothing about refusing help when you need it.”

“Um… no, Sister, I’m afraid you don’t understa-”

“I understand enough.”

Then Asmeret waves her hand, and Poptarts is pushed out of the way as the mob swarms upon the house.  
It’s not actually the whole mob, though, only about ten women - the familiar faces of Kimbay, Kalimba, Sadaka, and Asmeret among them - but they sweep in aristocratically, large pots and other containers in hand, making enough of a ruckus that other elders peek their heads out of their rooms to see. Elder Hatimbi appears, then, greeting the women warmly. As they start to bustle about the tiny kitchen and living room, doing Lord knows what, Poptarts approaches him, fuming.

“What is _this_?” he asks, crossing his arms. “...Elder.”

Elder Hatimbi gives him a look. “You said you needed help, didn’t you? I had my Nabulungi type out a text on that device of hers and gather our neighbors for that.”

“We needed help for _today_ ,” Poptarts replies. “Just to, to get the district up and running again. We’ll be fine after this.” That’s what a district is supposed to be, isn’t it? A self-sufficient, _provider_ to the community, not some entity that harbors chaos and takes from the locals’ time and resources. “We don’t need you to-”

Elder Hatimbi holds up a hand. “Kevin Price will not be getting better any time soon,” he says. “It is… have you seen a man with a fever, talking nonsense and trying to move, like there is a world in his head we cannot see?”

Slowly, Poptarts nods.

“That is what Elder Price is like. And I do not think his fever will break soon.”

A moment of silence falls, broken only by the clattering of dishes in the kitchen.

“But, Elder,” Poptarts says, taking a deep breath and pushing all his discomfort down, “it’s not right for you all to come… _assist_ with this issue. It’s against the rules, and we can’t ask it of you.” Even though Poptarts isn’t entirely sure what ‘it’ is.

Mafala chuckles. “I do not know what you are expecting, Elder,” he says. “All we are bringing is food, and those who have time will offer to stay. We cannot give you very much, but we will give what we can.” His face suddenly twists with confusion. “Do Americans not help each other out in this way?”

Poptarts remembers the flood of casseroles and pre-made breakfasts his family received after his sister’s diagnosis. He remembers the thousands of dollars raised to help cover medical expenses. He remembers the way his teachers let him get away with almost anything. He remembers all of the kind church ladies who spent the day with him while his parents were at the hospital, and praying with them that she would pull through. He remembers taking the keys to the family car and getting _out_ , going to wait in line for something he hasn’t touched since, and returning to tear-filled faces and those… those final words. He remembers the slideshow at the funeral, all those pictures from their friends of her smiling and happy and _healthy_ , and almost none from after the diagnosis. He remembers her dance group being there, putting on a performance in her honor, and the recital they held months later to raise money for cancer research. He remembers the hundreds of meals sent their way, most of which he and his mom and his dad couldn’t bring themselves to eat. Poptarts remembers all of it, and suddenly what the Ugandan church members are doing doesn’t seem so strange.

“We do,” Poptarts replies, struggling to pull himself back together. “But… we’re _missionaries_ , Elder. We shouldn’t need any help.”

Mafala smiles softly. “You are children,” he says, looking around the living area. “You are strangers in a strange land, and you still do not know anything at all.” His smile brightens, though, and he claps Poptarts on the back. “Are we not all brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus?” he asks. “Maybe you do not think you need the help, but we will give it anyway. That is what family does, here in Northern Uganda.”

Poptarts can’t find anything else to say.

So he watches as those ladies set up camp in the mission house’s little kitchen and Asmeret heads back out to say something to the crowd outside in Luo. In a matter of minutes, there are full pots of stew coming to a boil on the camp stove, some unknown something baking in the oven, and soft music coming from outside. The people are singing, Poptarts realizes, something soft and slow that he’s never heard before. It is quiet, and he feels like it’s sliding into the house, slipping through the cracks of the siding to caress and comfort those inside. It’s strange music.

The ladies leave, their work apparently done. Mafala gathers up all the elders except Elder Price and brings them outside; they all look scared, and now Poptarts can see what Mafala means. But the Ugandans bring them into the circle they’ve made, and everyone takes each other’s hands, and the song continues, soothing and sorrowful and strong, stronger than any hymn Poptarts has heard before. Some of them are humming, some are singing; there’s a flute or two in the crowd. He can’t understand the words, if there are any.

But Poptarts finds his head bowed; this song feels like a prayer. Mafala actually starts praying, his voice rising above the song, which quiets but doesn’t fade away. He asks Heavenly Father for healing for Elder Price and thanks Him for the blessings the elder brought to Kitguli, but then he falls silent. The song continues.

Kalimba is leading, her voice soaring above the rest; when Poptarts looks up, there are tears running down her face, which is lifted to the sky. This… this feels nothing like the prayer groups his mom dragged him to back home.

“Um… h-hey, everybody,” Elder Cunningham says, his voice stretching out above the music as he shuffles awkwardly to the edge of the porch. “Elder Hatimbi asked me to- uh, that doesn’t really matter. Uh. Anyway. You’re all here because of… because Elder Price is- there’s something _wrong_ with him; we don’t really know what happened for _sure_ , but he’s… he’s kind of gone crazy.”

The song swells, like the sound itself is wailing. Poptarts can feel the pull of it in his chest like it’s trying to draw a sob out of him. He bites his lip, hard, and closes his eyes.

“We don’t… Um…” Elder Cunningham is fumbling; when Poptarts looks up again, he sees it’s because he’s starting to cry. “It’s great of you guys to all come here. I… as the l-leader of the Church of Arnold, I… thank you. I’ll try to make sure he knows you c-came.

“Uh, I’m not gonna lie, I’m scared out of my mi- I’m really, _really_ scared. I dunno when I’m gonna get my best friend back. I dunno if what we’re trying is helping or hurting him. I… I know I… guys, this is why we gotta be nice to each other. I told you all to do that, and here you are. But I didn’t listen to what I was saying, and the other District Nine elders didn’t, either. We didn’t- we’re… It’s because of what happened to Elder Price his first week here that he’s going crazy _now_ , and it’s because I didn’t- because I wasn’t _there_ f-for him that-”

Elder Cunningham stops; he buries his face in his hands. The song grows to fill the empty space he’s left behind, but the sound of his sobs still carries over it.

Pop tarts has to let go of Elder Davis’ hand to wipe his eyes.

“H-heavenly Father,” Elder Cunningham cries out a moment later, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for- _nobody_ meant for this to happen. But our friend is hurting, and we need Y-your help. Please, please do _something_. Help him, _please_ , God, we can’t… all these people are here, asking you for help. Please, _please_ let this be enough. I know You’ve got a plan and everything, but it can’t be for K-kevin to be _stuck_ like this. Heavenly Father, please, we’re all asking, we need You to do this. I need you to heal him. P-please, he’s my _b-best friend_.”

Their prophet sobs as Elder Hatimbi draws him back into the circle; Poptarts’ grip on Davis and Middala’s hands gets very, very tight.

*****

Sadaka takes the next shift with Elder Price. All the elders are silent as the villagers head back to their lives, sometime around sundown. They file back into the house, each pair heading back to their room, but there’s an air of exhaustion over all of them. The singing was beautiful, but heartbreakingly so; Poptarts hasn’t felt this way since- in a long time. He and Elder McKinley are the last ones inside, and he hesitates at the entryway to the kitchen, but he’s not in the mood to eat anymore. He just wants to sleep, and… and for everything to be better in the morning.

Elder McKinley presses his hand as he turns back to the hallway. “Elder,” he says softly, “is there any chance you could… could I be alone for a moment?” His eyes flick to their closed bedroom door; Poptarts sees how red they are around the edges. He’s not going to begrudge his companion the chance to cry in private, not after all that.

He nods, and Elder McKinley actually smiles before heading towards the bedroom. Poptarts can’t return the gesture, but at least somebody isn’t feeling like mud on the road right now. Maybe getting to sing or being in that circle, having that emotional release, will be good for Elder McKinley. Poptarts’ conscience reminds him in a chipper voice that turning it off is what they’re all _supposed_ to do, but he brushes it off for once. He may be a missionary, but there are times when he’s just too tired to do the right thing.

He gives Elder McKinley a half an hour, then he goes to the door, barely scraping together the energy to raise his fist to knock. Elder McKinley answers the door with tear tracks smudging the foundation he thinks Poptarts doesn’t know he wears; Poptarts offers him a weak smile in return.

“Elder McKinley, I…” Poptarts gestures to his bed.

“It’s fine,” Elder McKinley replies. He opens his mouth to continue, but then he shakes his head and turns away. Poptarts doesn’t have the energy to pry it out of him.

He’s toeing off his shoes when he notices the edge of a bandage underneath Elder McKinley’s sleeve.

“Elder?” he asks.

McKinley pauses in the doorway. “Yes?” he says.

Poptarts hesitates. That wasn’t there before, he knows it wasn’t. But should he ask?

“Nothing,” he says.

Elder McKinley smiles. “Rest,” he says. “We can’t do this again tomorrow.”

Poptarts nods, and Elder McKinley pulls the bedroom door closed behind him.

 

Poptarts should have asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please feel free to shoot me a message at my tumblr, [greerian](http://www.greerian.tumblr.com), and leave kudos and comments :)


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short.

Elder McKinley says they can’t do it again, but they do, anyways. Everyone’s concentration is shot; Davis tries his damndest to work on his language workbook, but he ends up tossing it away in disgust after half an hour of reading the same page. The mission house has never been this quiet, and it’s uncomfortable and strange. They get to eat only by the mercy of the Ugandan women; it’s Elder Church’s turn to cook, but Davis wouldn’t trust anything his companion makes right now. He’s been staring off into space for the better part of a day, answering only in monosyllables, and Davis doesn’t know what to do. Elder Church’s problem is usually being too loud, not… this. He does say something around noon, though.

“You know, for my dad, they…” He stops.

“Yeah?” Davis prompts. Elder Church doesn’t talk about his dad (or anything serious) much, but it’s never seemed to bother him before.

Elder Church’s eyes are blank as he stares off at the wall. “He went crazy like this one time, just yelling at people, scratching and clawing. Threw some good punches. I was scared, I wanted to call the cops, but my mom…” He doesn’t finish, and Davis doesn’t need him to.

“It stopped, though, right?”

Church huffs. “Yeah,” he says, “after he got drunk.”

“Do you think Elder Price-”

“No.” Elder Church has turned to him, the glare on his face so different from the blank stare Davis had gotten before that he takes a step back, a hand raised in surrender. “No,” Church repeats, “that’s a bad idea.”

Davis shrugs. “It could snap him out of it.”

“And it could ruin his life.”

Church turns back to his wall.

Well, Church can mope if he wants; Davis is hungry, and sitting inside their room for a second day in a row is starting to drive him up a wall, so he yanks him up by the arm and heads to the kitchen, Elder Church following in a sulk.

And who is there eating at the table but Elder Price and Nabulungi, his guardian of the hour.

"Hello!" Elder Price calls.

Davis stops short at the end of the hallway, bracing himself against the wall, but Elder Price merely smiles and, turning to Nabulungi, asks, “Who are they, Sister?” He looks perfectly normal, except for the fact that Davis is sure he’s never smiled so genuinely in his life. And that his memory is apparently gone.

She takes his hand and points to Davis, then Church, saying “These are your fellow elders, Davis and Church. Do you remember them?”

His expression turns thoughtful, and he lowers his fork to the table. “I… I think so,” he says. “It’s hard, you understand.”

Nabulungi smiles, and Elder Price shrugs apologetically. “I know,” she replies, “but you must try to remember, Kevin. Do you feel anything when you look at them? Is there anything there?” She hesitates, and Elder Davis tenses. “We are all very worried about you.”

Elder Price beams. “There’s nothing to worry about! I’m feeling just fine,” he assures, but he turns to Davis and Church with a determined expression, looking them over with such intense focus that Elder Church squirms. Davis holds firm, though, until Elder Price looks back at Nabulungi and says “It itches, like I told you, but otherwise I’m not getting much.”

He turns back to the elders with an unnervingly normal smile and adds “I didn’t remember Sister Nabulungi here until I heard her voice. Maybe you could say something?”

Davis clears his throat. “Uh… hello,” he says. “I’m Elder Davis, from Cheyenne, Wyoming, and…” Weeks of MTC training on how to talk to strangers and he can’t find anything more to say to a guy he’s lived with for months. Fat lot of good his training did him. “Elder Church?” he prompts.

Elder Church waves, straightening up, but Elder Price’s gaze is on Davis, and his smile is gone.

“You,” he says, with an air of realization. “You hurt me, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“No,” Elder Price continues, “that’s not right. You didn’t… I hurt you.” He goes silent for a second, but then he seems to remember something. “Hold up your arms.”

Davis does, and Elder Price looks half triumphant, half devastated.

“I remembered,” he says softly, studying the scratches on Davis’s skin as best he can from across the room. “I… I kicked you, too, didn’t I?”

“Uh… yeah.”

Elder Price’s gaze goes distant. “I remember a little bit,” he says softly, slowly. “Sister, I… I was laughing. Elder Davis tried to stop me from something, and I was… what was I scared of?” He shakes his head. “Wrong question,” he mutters. “...what did I do?”

He looks down at the table, at his half-eaten plate of food, and Nabulungi squeezes his hand. Davis lets his arms fall, feeling guilty over Elder Price’s memories. Whose fault is it if they’re unpleasant, though? Davis was only trying to help and keep Elder Price from hurting himself.

“It’s not a big-” he starts to say, but Elder Price’s eyes snap up, and he stops as Elder Price’s face gains a look of horror.

“I left my mission companion,” he says. “Elder Cunningham. I left him, where… The general was there, and he shot someone, and then… then I left him. Where is he?”

“Elder Cunningham?” Nabulungi says, visibly perking up even through her visible worry. “He went to run an errand. But he will be back soon.”

“No,” Elder Price says, bracing his hands against the table. “No, he can’t. It’s not- the general is still out there, it’s not _safe_. He’s all alone out there, he can’t be alone.”

“Kevin, Elder Butt-Fucking-Naked is a part of the church-” Nabulungi tries to say, but Elder Price interrupts her, shaking his head wildly.

“No, no,” he says, “it’s not safe out there; he’s going to get hurt. There’s a murderer out there, shooting people for- for _talking_ , and that’s… Elder Cunningham talks a lot. He’s going to get himself _shot_. I shouldn’t have left him alone, I shouldn’t- there’s a _reason_ rule 72 exists. There’s… rule 72.” He goes silent, and for a split second Elder Davis almost relaxes. But then he’s up, his chair rocking against the floor, and he’s heading for the front door. “I need to get to him,” he says, “there’s rule 72, and I need to be with him; he’s my mission companion and I can’t leave him alone, and it’s dangerous out there, he’s…”

“Elder Price!” Nabulungi calls, running after him, but he’s gone, the front door slamming behind him.

“Shi- shoot,” Davis says, and then he and Elder Church are following, hot on his tail.

The three of them call after him, but Elder Price doesn’t stop, muttering and walking faster. Elder Davis only catches snatches of what he’s saying.

“Elder Cunningham… can’t leave him… there’s _rules_ … stupid… the general… get himself shot… alone.” They’ve just about caught up with him at the edge of the village, but then he starts sprinting, and he’s not muttering anymore. “Elder Cunningham!” he cries. “Elder Cunningham!”

Nabulungi finally stops running after him, and Davis and Church come to stand by her side.

“Sister,” Davis gasps, resting his hands on his knees. “Find Elder Cunningham. Get him here, now.”

Nabulungi jerks a nod and then takes off, weaving through the huts around them. Davis grabs Church’s shoulder.

“We gotta catch him,” he says, and Church grunts in agreement.

They take off, struggling to keep flashes of Elder Price’s white uniform shirt in view. The guy is _fast_ , but, finally, in the center of the village, he stops.

“Elder Cunningham!” the runaway keeps calling, cupping his hands to his mouth. “Elder Cunningham, where are you?” He’s turning wildly, looking in every direction as Davis and Church grabs his arms, but he doesn’t respond.

“Elder Cunningham, please! I didn’t- I’m sorry!” People are staring, and the few church members around are starting to approach, brows puckered in worry. Elder Davis redoubles his effort to bring Elder Price’s arms to his side.

“Elder Price, stop!” he hisses. “Stop this, Elder Cunningham is _fine_! Nabulungi is getting him right now.”

“No,” Elder Price says desperately, “no, he’s- he’s not, he’s not fine. He’s not here, he’s not coming, he’s _gone_ . He’s gone because I left him alone, and- _Arnold_! Arnold, _please_!”

Nabulungi emerges from the quickly growing crowd, tugging a red-faced Elder Cunningham behind her.

“Kevin!” he calls, hurrying to Elder Price’s side, “hey, buddy, it’s okay, I’m right here.” He lays a hand on the arm Elder Church is gripping, but Elder Price shakes them both off, Davis barely managing to hold on.

“No, stop, he’s not- he’s not okay, he should _be here_ ; he would be here by now if- he’s not okay, he’s not okay, he’s not-”

“Buddy!” Elder Cunningham says, “Kevin, I’m _right here_. Can you hear me?”

“He’s _gone!_ ” Elder Price keens. Everyone crowding around stops. Elder Davis stops struggling with him. Arnold’s eyes go wide. Elder Price sounds _broken_ ; they can all hear it. They can see it, too, with the way he throws back his head and shrieks, the sound rending the air.

No one says anything for a long, long moment, but there’s still the bustle of the crowd around their little circle, and somehow, when Elder Price lowers his head, he sees past them, to where Elder Butt-effing-Naked is standing by the well.

“You!” he howls, lunging forward. Davis doesn’t brace his feet in time, and Middala and Mutumbo, both in the crowd, have to wrap themselves around Elder Price to keep him from advancing. “You _killed him_!”

The elder looks around and almost shrugs at the way Elder Price is fighting to get to him.

Davis winces as Elder Price yells in a rage, flailing against the church members who have him in their grip.

“You’re a monster!” he screams, throwing his fist in the air. “You’re a sick monster! You’re _possessed_ , you disgusting, vile, _murderer_!”

Now Elder Butt-effing-Naked almost looks hurt.

Suddenly Gotswana is there, scowling but calm as he mutters “Get him inside, to my clinic,” and starts to usher Middala and Mutumbo there.

Elder Price is still shouting as they move, and doing everything he can to get out of their grip, but the men are strong, and Elder Price won’t be able to get away from them unless they want him to. Davis and Church trail behind, still breathing hard from their chase through the village and their struggle with their brother in the church, and Elder Cunningham pushes past them. But just after Gotswana enters his clinic, pulling Mutumbo and Middala and Elder Price inside after him, Elder Price cries “Why don’t you just kill me, too?!”

Davis shivers. Elder Cunningham sobs.

Elder Price stops trying to fight as Middala and Mutumbo dump him on the floor of the clinic, Gotswana rushing to lock the door. He doesn’t try to get up. He barely tries to keep his weight on his hands and off the old tiles, shoulders heaving as if he’s about to be sick. But he’s sobbing, crying like a toddler, and he cries out for Arnold, the name coming from his mouth as a mangled moan.

Gotswana’s expression is dark as he prepares a syringe of something from a locked drawer, and Davis and Church look away as he tilts Elder Price’s head to the side and injects it, just like a few days ago. Arnold drops to his knees by Elder Price’s side, in tears himself as he hugs his mission companion and tells him, over and over again, that he’s _alive_ , they’re both alive, and the general isn’t going to hurt them. But if Elder Price hears, he doesn’t show it by the time the sedative starts to take, slowing his breathing and making him go limp against Elder Cunningham. The last thing he says, as his eyelids start to flutter closed, is “Who’s going to tell Naba?” and Arnold starts to full-on weep, burying his face in his best friend’s shirt.

Gotswana unlocks the door again, dragging Davis and Church outside by their ears. “I told you to tell me if I got like that again,” he says, crossing his arms. “How many attacks like that has he had since the last one?”

Davis and Church exchange a look, and Davis tells him, honestly, that he doesn’t know.

“I don’t think any of them have made him leave the house, though,” he offers.

Gotswana hmphs in response.

“And where is Elder McKinley?” he asks. “Shouldn’t he be in charge here?”

 _Well,_ that' _s an excellent question_ ,” Davis finds himself thinking sarcastically. But he chastises himself. It must be hard on Elder McKinley as a district leader to see one of his elders in such a state, that’s all. But, if Elder Price falling apart bothers him this much, is he really going to be capable of managing the district? After all, things are far from easy here, and somebody whose first and only way of dealing with a problem is to pretend he didn’t notice it (and make other people do so, too) doesn’t sound like the best candidate for district leader. But the handbook says they’re supposed to speak well of authority, and who knows, Elder McKinley could still surprise them.

“He’s watching the other elders,” Davis replies.

Gotswana continues like Davis hadn’t hesitated. “Who was watching Elder Price?”

“Sister Hatimbi,” Church says.

Gotswana’s scowl deepens. “She can’t do that anymore. He could have hurt her. Only people strong enough to hold Elder Price back are allowed to be around him, until he gets his mind together.”

Davis and Church share a glance. “What about us?” Church asks. “He could have hurt us, too.”

Gotswana scoffs. “You’re men,” he says, “and you’re his age. Look at Nabulungi; does she look like she could keep Elder Price off of her?”

Davis half-glances around, looking for her, and Gotswana cuffs him upside the head.

“She is strong, but she is small. She is Mafala’s only child, and I will not let her be in danger because of Elder Price’s madness.” Gotswana stares at Davis until their eyes meet. “Do you understand me?”

Davis has to clear his throat. “Yes, si- Elder.”

Gotswana jerks his head in a sharp nod, and without another word, he turns his back on them and walks back into the clinic.

Church sighs the second the door closes. “ _That_ was…” he starts.

“Yeah,” Davis replies. That was moving. Davis is glad Elder Poptarts wasn’t there to see it. “We’re going to have to lock him in the house.”

“You really think so?” Church asks.

Davis huffs. “Does he look like he’s getting any better to you?”

Church’s silence is a good enough answer for him. And if Elder McKinley isn’t going to take charge and do his job, Davis will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos/comments, or feel free to come say hi at my tumblr, greerian. Thanks for reading :)


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elder Church has a heart. Elder Davis tries not to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, these chapters just keep getting shorter and shorter... oh well. This was a filler one, anyway. But a good filler, I think.

The doors get locked. 

Nobody challenges Davis’ command to latch them when he and Church return, a barely-conscious Elder Price between them. When Davis gives the others a quick run-down of what happened and says he’s calling a meeting, Elder McKinley doesn’t even put up a fight.

Maybe that has something to do with the fact that Kevin’s reaction to him, once he manages to lift his head and actually see the people standing around, is to scream so loud Davis almost drops him to throw his hands over his ears. He clutches at Elder Davis, and he sounds just like a little kid as he begs Elder McKinley to  _ go away _ . 

Elder McKinley looks gutted, and Elder Poptarts sweeps him away to the kitchen as quickly as he could. When Elder Church and Elder Davis get Kevin into his bedroom, he just falls onto the bed, immediately fighting his way underneath the covers and curling up into a ball. It’s pathetic. Davis feels sick to his stomach, watching. 

“I’m s-sorry,” Kevin stammers out. “I didn’t- I’m sorry.” 

It’s Elder Church who answers, saying “It’s okay,” more soothingly than Davis knew he could be. 

“It’s not,” Kevin asserts; Davis can hear his teeth chattering as he looks up at them, wide-eyed. 

Church sighs. “No,” he says. “It’s not.” 

Kevin whimpers, and Davis has to look away. 

“It will be, though,” Church continues. “You didn’t do anything wrong, El- Kevin.” 

Kevin doesn’t answer. 

 

So Davis and Church leave, and Davis lays out the schedule for the rest of the day and tomorrow, and nobody says a word against him. Elder Michaels actually looks relieved. Davis tells them all what Gotswana said, and assigns both someone to be in the room and someone to be outside, no further than the kitchen, in case one person on duty isn’t enough. He cuts down missionary work to four hours a day. He halts the chore chart, sticking everyone with what they’ve got until Elder Price shows any change. “Or,” he adds grimly, “until we settle into this routine.” 

Nobody ventures a guess as to which one will come first. 

“Let’s close in prayer,” Davis says, looking around the kitchen table where they’re all gathered. Only Elder McKinley won’t meet his eyes. 

“Wait,” his companion says. “Elder Neeley, I have a question.” 

“Yes?” Elder Neeley asks. 

All eyes are on Elder Church, and he fidgets in his seat. Davis wants to rest a hand on his shoulder to steady him, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Elder Church is strong enough; if he has something he wants to say, he’ll do it. 

“Could there… You said, if there wasn’t anything before this, right?” he says. 

Neeley frowns. “Beg pardon?” he replies. 

Elder Church looks a little queasy. “I… look, I think maybe there’s… He keeps saying  _ sorry _ . And, he was worried about Elder Cunningham getting hurt.” 

Elder Cunningham sniffles from his lonely place at the head of the table, and Poptarts takes his hand. 

“And you know about me and my mom.” Elder Church looks surprised at his own bluntness. “But, anyway, there’s… I had to turn off how I felt about that, because I felt sorry about it all the time.” 

“And you think something similar may have happened to Elder Price,” Neeley finishes.

“ _ Kevin _ ,” Elder Davis corrects. “We’re calling him ‘Kevin’ until he shows signs of improvement.” 

Neeley bows his head in deference. 

“More or less,” Elder Church replies, obviously more at ease now that he’s gotten the words out. “I think he’s starting to realize he messed up his mission, and he’s feeling guilty about that. And… and abused people can’t really tell what’s their fault or not. If what the general did  _ counts _ like that, then  _ that _ plus… well…” Now Church actually squirms, and Davis gives into his urge, clapping a firm hand onto his companion’s shoulder. “I heard him talking to Elder McKinley the day before this started.” 

Poptarts sits up straight, a light in his eyes that Davis instantly mistrusts, but Elder Church continues. 

“We all know that turning it off only works for so long,” he says, “and Elder McKinley’s story is kind of…” He swallows. “I think Elder McKinley told him some things he should have told Heavenly Father, instead, and Kevin added that to his mission, and, and then we have this.” And then Elder Church turns to Davis, like he’s handing over the reins of the conversation, and Davis has no choice but to speak. 

“So,” he says, trying to work out the tangled thread of Church’s thoughts, “you think that Kevin may have been through what you- your mother has gone through, and that is making him take on guilt, which is… causing this?” 

Church nods, and Davis turns to Neeley. 

“Is that possible?” 

Neeley rests his chin in his hand, and he frowns at the tabletop. “It is,” he answers, “but I don’t… I don’t know if that’s  _ enough _ . It could explain some of his behavior, though.” Then his smooth facade wears a little thin, and Davis can see the desperation behind it. “I don’t know, though. I’ve only picked up what I know from my dad. It could be something else entirely that we’re missing. This could just be a fluke.” 

“A fluke?” Elder Cunningham echoes. 

Neeley waves a hand vaguely. “Random,” he says. “Mental illness doesn’t work under a set of rules.” 

“So what you’re telling me,” Elder Cunningham says, raising his voice with each word, “is that my best friend was either beaten by his dad every night and thinks that everything that went wrong on our mission was  _ his fault _ , or this is all just some really  _ shitty _ coincidence?” 

Michaels sits up in alarm, and Davis scowls down the table at him. 

“Language,” he reminds him. 

But Elder Cunningham is starting to look hysterical, and Davis needs to cut that off at the root. 

“Elder McKinley,” he says. “What did you say to Kevin Price?” After all, there’s no way to prove Elder Church’s theory right without knowing if Elder McKinley said anything serious to him or not. 

“What?” Elder McKinley asks. He sounds like he’s a million miles away, and even though he’s looked up from the table to meet Elder Davis’ eyes, it’s like he’s looking  _ past _ him, not at him. Davis tenses. “Oh, what did I… when are you referring to?” 

“The day before Kevin went crazy,” Poptarts reminds him. “What did you say to him?” 

Now Elder McKinley’s eyes snap back into focus, and he looks around the table like a mouse in a trap. 

“I didn’t say anything!” he says, smiling brightly. “Elder Price and I just, you know, we  _ talk _ , just like I talk to all of you. We didn’t say anything of  _ importance _ , just brotherly chit-chat. About the mission. Why do you ask?” 

Church is frowning as he says, “I heard raised voices.” 

“Raised voices?” Elder McKinley repeats. “Well, you must have been imagining things. Neither of us raised our voices at all; it was a very polite and, and  _ neat _ conversation. Nothing important, nothing  _ emotional _ . I’m turning it off, of course, and Elder Price was  _ just fine _ until the other night. But, Elder Church, are you sure  _ you’re _ all right? After all, if you’re hearing things, maybe we should have Gotswana check you out. We wouldn’t want you turning out like Elder Price, now would we?” 

He’s gone too far; there’s a spark that flashes ‘round the table that has everyone sending him incredulous - or angry - looks, and the district leader leans back in his chair. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, smiling even more brightly. “Just a little bit of humor to lighten things up. You don’t mind, do you, Elder Church?” 

Elder Church looks pale, and Elder Davis is just about to call the attention in the room back to himself when Elder McKinley says, 

“It’s not really a concern if you just know how to turn it off, Elder.” 

And that’s it; Neeley is scowling, already drawing breath to challenge McKinley’s claims. Church is quickly turning red with anger, and Davis doesn’t blame him one bit, not after what they’ve seen today. Elder Cunningham is close to crying, and Poptarts and Michaels both just look scared. 

“Elders, enough.” Davis barks, standing. “We know Kevin is suffering. We know he can’t control it. We  _ know _ -” he shoots a sharp look at Elder McKinley “-that he can’t turn it off. We know that there’s nothing we can do but  _ pray _ .” He takes a deep breath, sitting down again. “Let us pray for peace amongst ourselves, and peace for Elder Price,” he says. “And for a fast recovery.” 

Because Elder Davis doesn’t know how long their district can handle this. 

*****

“Elder Davis!” Poptarts hisses, taking his arm and holding his back as everyone disappears into the hallway, ready for this day to be over.

Davis looks tired, and Poptarts doesn’t blame him at all. 

“Yes?” Davis says. 

“What if Elder Church is right?” Poptarts asks. “His theory about abuse and guilt… It makes sense, especially if he- you saw some of the things he did, and he  _ is _ sorry for something. I think Elder Church really may have hit on something here.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Davis asks. 

Poptarts steps back, his hand falling away. “So we can figure out what’s wrong with Elder Price,” he says. “Isn’t that-” 

But Davis shakes his head. “We don’t  _ know _ ,” he says, “and we probably won’t ever know what it’s like inside his head. It’s better left untouched, Elder. We still have work to do.” 

“But… how do you expect him to get better?” Poptarts asks, his voice faint even to himself. 

Davis doesn’t hesitate. “Elder Neeley said it could be over as soon as this week, and we’ll pray our hardest in the meantime.” 

“But we need to find out what’s  _ wrong _ ,” Poptarts protests. 

“We know what’s wrong,” Davis asserts. “He’s lost his mind.” 

“We can help him get it back!” 

“No, we can’t,” Davis says. “We can pray, and we can stick to our work; that’s all Heavenly Father gave us to do.” 

Davis must take his stunned silence for agreement; he nods at Poptarts before offering a quick “see you at dinner,” and walking away. 

Well. 

Poptarts stands there for a good long while, shocked at the coldness he didn’t think Elder Davis was capable of. It’s like he’s given up hope already, even though he’s taking charge and talking about recovery. But Poptarts knows there’s  _ got _ to be a reason behind Elder Price’s illness, at least for some of it. Neeley said extreme stress, and now they know about what the general did to him, but he also has a problem with  _ himself _ , with leaving his companion. And then there was the conversation with Elder McKinley… 

Poptarts can’t help but feel that there must be something about what’s happening in Kevin’s head that’s  _ connected _ to all of those, or that whatever he’s feeling is drawing from that. If that’s true, then that gives them at least some place to start. Except that ‘them’ is Poptarts alone, now, though he would have thought people would be jumping at the chance to help heal Kevin Price. 

But it looks like Poptarts is on his own for this one (and if Poptarts’ reason has something to do with Kevin’s unnerving apology to him the day this happened, well…At least he’s alone in that, too). 

*****

Davis is exhausted by the time he falls into bed that night. Church has been there for a while, reading, but Davis had to try and figure out exactly what administrative stuff Elder McKinley had fallen behind on and what just needed to get done.

He’s almost asleep when Church says,

“It really makes it personal, to use his first name. Kevin. It’s like… we know him.” 

“We do know him,” Davis replies. “He’s our brother in the church.” 

Church turns onto his side. “You know what I mean.” 

Davis sighs. “No, I don’t think I do.” 

“It’s like… he’s Kevin, not just a guy in the church. It’s like we’re friends with him.” 

“We were before.” 

“Were we?” 

Davis doesn’t have an answer for that. 

“I had no idea the guy had so many issues,” Church says, turn back to his back. “His head must be a real fun place to be.” 

_ Like yours? _ Davis almost snaps. He’s tired, or else he wouldn’t have thought it, but it’s too close to what Elder McKinley said earlier for him to want this conversation to keep going. “Lights out means it’s time to sleep, Elder,” he says instead. 

Church nods. 

“Do… do you think Elder McKinley is right?” he ventures, though, a few minutes later. “Do you think he’s just not turning it off? Do you-” 

“No,” Davis replies. “He’s wrong.” He pauses, thinking of their ex-leader’s familiar refrain. “He wasn’t turning it off earlier; he was lying.” 

“Okay,” Church replies. 

“And I don’t think you’re like Kevin,” Davis adds. “You’re not… if you say you heard them yelling, then I trust you.” 

If Elder Church replies, it isn’t until Davis is fast asleep, and the next day, it’s like the conversation never happened. 

Davis brushes it off; he’s got a district to run now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please like/give kudos, and feel free to come message me at my tumblr, [greerian](http://www.greerian.tumblr.com).


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A balance is found and lost, and Elder Davis makes a good district leader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [dreamhusband-the-warlock](http://www.dreamhusband-the-warlock.tumblr.com) for help with Kevin's Orlando memories. 
> 
> We're almost there, you guys :) 
> 
> Thirteen chapters is an estimated total, but I don't know for sure. I'm thinking this chapter (10), the climax (11), an aftermath (12) and the conclusion (13). I hope you enjoy!

Poptarts has practice keeping quiet and listening; he also has practice asking about symptoms, and recognizing ones that don’t get mentioned. He knows what matters and what doesn’t. He never thought what his sister went though would give him experience he’d ever have to use again, but he’s used to diagnoses, and people kept to their beds, and the shaking of heads as the idea of recovery starts to get further and further away. He watches Kevin throughout the days that follow, and he starts to notice things.

Kevin’s symptoms form patterns. When he recognizes his caretakers and can actually _talk_ , he says he feels itchy, and there’s a buzzing in his ears, most of the time.

“Like there’s mosquitoes everywhere,” he says, scratching at his arm. The skin beneath his nails is raw.

He says there are shadows or flashes in the corner of his eye; he can’t stand people being behind him. Mutumbo taking care of him is hit or miss - sometimes, Kevin says he looks like the general; sometimes he just screams.

And there are other things, signs that Poptarts starts to pick up on his own. Kevin is scared of his own shadow, glancing around like there’s always something waiting to pop out at him from a dark corner. Gunshots - or any loud sound, really - make him worse; Poptarts learned that from the time Elder Cunningham dropped the stew pot while making dinner. If Kevin starts getting sweet and smiley, they need to get ready for another attack. He remembers Davis best. He can’t look at Elder McKinley; either he just doesn’t see him or he sees something so awful he goes completely silent, dead to the world for hours (or he screams, and that’s… well).  And… and when he looks at Elder Cunningham, or at Poptarts, there’s something so completely _heartbroken_ about his face. It’s like… guilt, and sadness, and shame, and… Poptarts doesn’t even know if he’s reading that right. But it’s an unsettling look to have turned your way.

Poptarts asked him, once, what he was sorry for. Kevin just smiled, blank and empty, and said “I don’t know.”

Poptarts doesn’t ask again.

*****

It’s been almost two weeks since the night Davis and Church found Elder Price in Elder McKinley’s arms, and nothing has changed. Well. A little has changed. They’re not as terrified or as confused as they were two weeks ago. Elder McKinley isn’t district leader anymore, except in name. The Ugandan women are still feeding them. Davis’ arms have healed.

Davis wants to think he’s holding the district together, and maybe he is, but the fact that they’ve all had to put their missions on hold for weeks now (minus a day) with no marked improvement in Kevin’s swings or his attacks doesn’t bode well for them. He’s starting to wonder about psychiatric hospitals, and how the district is going to pay for that. He’s got half a letter to the mission president drafted.

But he can’t bring himself to finish it. He knows what he’s supposed to do - pray and ask for help - but that doesn’t include being district leader, and he _knows_ if Elder McKinley were still in charge right now they would probably be holed up in Kampala, waiting for plane rides home. And Davis has a stubborn streak he’s not ashamed to own up to. If District Nine could make it through those hellish three months of absolutely no conversions, then Elder Cunningham’s whirlwind record-breaking baptisms, and _then_ the mission president seeing that pageant, they can make it through this.

He’s worried, though. Elder Church is quiet; heck, everyone’s quiet. They’ve got more of a system down for dealing with Kevin, and he hasn’t hurt anyone intentionally since, but the Ugandan church members can only give so much of their time, and taking care of Kevin isn’t in any of the elders’ training. They’re _missionaries_ , not… not therapists.

At least, that’s what Davis would prefer. It’s not true anymore, not with everyone trying to shoulder their way through this. Elder McKinley was dead wrong about Elder Church, Davis is sure of it, but it doesn’t stop the idea of this issue spreading from getting into his head. Mental illness isn’t contagious, of course, but stress is not good for anyone. Davis organizes prayer groups every other day with as many of the members of the church as can come.

They pray for hours, over Uganda, over Kitguli, over the families here; they pray for the Mormon church, for the Church of Arnold, for the villages around; they pray for the elders’ families, back in the U.S.; they pray for Kevin Price; they pray for themselves. Secrets start to come out during those sessions. Neeley has obsessive compulsions. Michaels can barely make himself eat. Poptarts can’t say his sister’s name. Church’s dad is dying of cirrhosis. Cunningham- he’s usually crying too hard to say anything. Only Davis and Elder McKinley keep quiet; Davis because he’s leading, and McKinley… Davis doesn’t know what to do with him. He keeps saying he’s turning it off, and that’s he’s doing just fine, but if that’s not a lie straight from the pit of hell, Davis doesn’t know what is. He’s looking worse every day, but Davis just can’t devote extra time to figuring out what the heck is wrong with him since he won’t share when everyone else does. If he’s turning it off, he can do that until he decides it’s stopped working for him, Davis decides. He’s got nothing against turning it off, but it’s not going to work when their primary focus right now isn’t on their missions. Turning it off is for getting work done; now isn’t the time.

Elder McKinley avoids him, he can tell. Davis doesn’t blame him; he wouldn’t want to hang around the man who took his place, but it’s not making it any easier for Davis to check up on him.  
But he has to, eventually. Elder Church’s questions about that conversation are haunting him, and he wants to know, once and for all, if they’re facing Kevin’s demons from more than one front, the way Church seems to think.

“Elder McKinley,” he says, coming up to the doorway of the ex-district leader’s bedroom. “I need to talk to you.”

A moment or two of silence. “One moment,” comes a reply from the other side of the door.

Davis waits for a long time before Elder McKinley opens the door, smiling brightly.

“Yes, Elder?” he greets. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Davis looks past him into the room, trying to see what might have taken him so long to answer, but the room is immaculate.

“Practicing your dancing?” he asks.

Elder McKinley cocks his head. “I’m sorry?” he says.

“Nevermind.” Davis sighs, setting his jaw. “Elder McKinley, I need to know what you said to Elder Price the day before this happened.”

Strangely, Elder McKinley’s smile only gets wider. “There’s nothing to say,” he says. “Like I told you all the other day, we just talked about… about things in general. Like friends.”

“Friends?” Davis repeats. “You know what friends talk like? Like the other elders at our prayer meetings. Not what you’re doing. Not what you said to Elder Church.” He stops. “I’ve had it with your attitude about this,” he says. “I don’t know why you’re acting the way you are, but Kevin is in trouble, and you… you’re… I don’t know _what_ you’re doing.”

“I’m _turning it o_ -”

“I know you’re turning it off!” Davis snaps. Pressing the heels of his hands firmly into his eyes, he exhales. “I know what we did before, Elder. But we can’t do that now. We’re all barely holding together, and anything you can give to help… to help him, we need to hear that now.”

Elder McKinley’s smile slips for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Davis to know that what he’s asking for isn’t going to happen.

“I have nothing to share,” he says. “Elder Price and I just talked about the weather. It was a lovely night that evening, I have to say, and-”

“Stop,” Davis says. “Don’t you care about this at all?”

Elder McKinley takes a breath to say something, and Davis cuts him off.

“You could help,” he says. “You’re supposed to be in charge here. Why aren’t you doing it?”

“Elder Davis-”

“You _know_ you could help him,” Davis says. “But you’re not. That’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever seen you do.”

Davis doesn’t know why he said that - he doesn’t know if Poptarts’ theory about finding out exactly what’s wrong is valid - but it’s true, he knows. Elder McKinley is being selfish, and they’re supposed to give their lives entirely to Heavenly Father, to the church. This is their mission, for goodness’ sake, and he can’t even put his own problems aside for their friend?

“Did you ask him for sex?” he asks. “Is that what it was? Elder McKinley, if that’s it, that’s- I know you wouldn’t want that spread around, but it’s more useful that not knowing anything. Is that what set him off?”

It’s a long shot, and Elder McKinley’s smile is as impenetrable as ever when he says “I’m sorry, Elder Davis, I have something I need to take care of. Will you forgive me for not answering your question?”

Davis jerks a nod before spinning on his heel and walking away.

*****

Poptarts takes Neeley’s shift one day. Kevin is curled up in bed, like he usually is, and suddenly Poptarts can’t stand the sight of him.

“When are you going to get better?” he asks, standing and starting to pace. “Kevin, it’s been _days_. What’s wrong? What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin says, his face half-buried in his pillow.

Poptarts huffs in frustration, walking the length of the bedroom back and forth. “I don’t know either,” he says. “I’m _trying_ , but the pieces aren’t coming together at all, and we’re not learning anything new, and my companion won’t even _talk_ to me, and you’re just so _miserable_! What the heck, Kevin.”

“I don’t kn-know,” Kevin repeats.

Poptarts turns, and oh no, he’s crying. “Kevin…” Poptarts says, returning to his chair by the side of the bed. “It’s not…” He sighs, and reaches out a hand over the man’s back. “May I?”

Kevin nods slowly, and Poptarts starts to rub his back, light sweeping strokes, below his shoulder-blades.

“Do you even know who I am right now?” he asks quietly.

Kevin’s shoulders shake, and his face is fully hidden now.

A sigh that Poptarts bites back. _I don’t even like him_ , he thinks. _I never liked him. He was an arrogant_ prick _who thought his mission was his own personal joyride, and- and now, he’s…_ Gosh, Poptarts just feels sorry for him. For Kevin Price. And Poptarts is comforting him as he sobs into a pillow, his mind broken, maybe irreparably.

“There has to be _something_ …” he murmurs. But he wonders if there is. Maybe Davis is right. Maybe the only thing they can do is pray for a miracle. Maybe… they just need to make him as happy as they can, until…

“Wait,” he tells himself.

Kevin looks up. “Yeah?”

“I thought of something that might… it could help,” Poptarts says hesitantly. He doesn’t know, but maybe the key to helping Kevin, at least a little bit, isn’t focusing on the bad things; maybe it’ll help if he finds any good things, happy memories. Provided that he can even remember anything like that. “Do you… can you remember your mother or father at all?”

Kevin’s face falls. “I’ve tried,” he says. “I just see-” He stops.

“Your brothers?” Poptarts presses. “Sisters? Cousins, aunts, uncles, anything?”

Kevin looks on the verge of crying again. No family, then. Poptarts decides not to question that.

“Is there… a sport you played, that you really enjoyed?” he asks. “A class you did well? A… a Bible verse you love?  Any scripture?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin answers. “I don’t know; it’s like there’s, there’s a _wall_ there, I can’t- I’m sorry, I can’t-”

“Okay,” Poptarts cuts him off as soothingly as he can. “That’s just fine, I’m just trying to help.” But there has to be something he liked that he can remember. His head has to have something good in it, to get him out of the really bad places, Poptarts _knows_ -

“Kevin, when you think about happy things, is there anything you remember?” he tries.

Kevin frowns, his brow furrowing, and for a second Poptarts thinks it’s a lost cause, but then a word passes Kevin’s lips: “Orlando.”

“Orlando?” Poptarts echoes.

“Yes…” Kevin replies slowly, wiping his eyes quickly. “Orlando. It’s… Orlando is happy.”

Poptarts takes a deep breath, and he feels a smile start to spread across his face. He should have just let Kevin say what makes him happy; Poptarts should have known better. But Kevin actually remembered something!

“Can you tell me why?” Poptarts asks, sitting back as Kevin pushes himself to an upright position.

Kevin nods, and Poptarts almost squeals. It’s small, maybe, but it’s a breakthrough, and Kevin is actually starting to smile.

“I… I want to go there,” Kevin says. “It’s the most magical place in the world. I… I think I’ve… no, I know, I’ve been there. I’ve _been_ there, and… I love it. I love Orlando, and… and Disney, and Seaworld, and… I was nine. I was nine years old, and we went for a family vacation. It wasn’t just me, my… my mom was there, and my dad, and Jack and Sara and some of the little guys, I remember them! And mom took tons of pictures. There was all of us in front of Cinderella’s castle, and I kept that one on my desk, and… and… I can’t remember what happened to it but I _know_ I had that picture, and I know that Orlando is the most wonderful place in the world, and I’m going to get to live there, Poptarts, I-”

Kevin looks up, his eyes wide as they meet Poptarts’, and they both break into wide grins.

“I know your name!” Kevin says.

“Yeah!” Poptarts replies. “Kevin, that’s amazing!” And for a beautiful moment, everything is perfect.

But then Kevin keeps talking, his words coming faster and stumbling over each other in his haste, and Poptart’s heart falls to his feet.

“I’m going to _live_ there, Poptarts, because if I do every right and I pray and I work, Heavenly Father will give it to me. And I have, I really have,” he says, earnestly, “I’ve been working very hard, and my mission will be the perfect chance to- to prove that I’m _worthy_ , because Orlando is the most incredible place in the _whole world_. There’s… there’s colors there, bright colors like in the movies, and it smells like cookies and you get to eat whatever you want, and _that_ ’s what Heaven looks like, Poptarts! And I’m going to get my own planet full of it, and it’s going to be _amazing_ , and, and, and I’m gonna…”

Kevin’s chest is heaving, and Poptarts sits back again, feeling defeated. He was so sure Kevin was coming back to himself, remembering something so meaningful, but this… this is just a bunch of made-up crap. Elder Price never could have thought all this before. But at least a happy delusion is better than what he had before. Right?

“I… I feel good there, I know I do,” Kevin continues seriously, “because… because I’m the voice of _God_ , Poptarts, and I’m going to get _whatever_ I pray for, and… and there’s no prayer in Disney. There’s no… nobody yells at you. No... It’s… it’s… and I just have to _work_ for it. That’s why my mission is so important, because I’m never going to g-”

Kevin stops. “The mission president,” he says. “I have to go see the mission president and get _transferred_!”

Poptarts has heard those words before. And he knows what happens after.

“Kevin-” he says.

“No, Poptarts, you don’t understand, I can make this better. I can make this _right_. I just need to go to Orlando! I _remember_ Orlando! And, and in Orlando, everything will… everything will be right again.” Kevin takes a deep breath, setting his shoulders, and he looks at Poptarts. “The mission president is coming,” he says.

Poptarts sighs, and rests his head in his hands. “Because of the progress report?” he asks. But… the mission president had wanted a written progress report. He hadn’t said anything about coming to Kitguli.

And, when he looks up, Kevin is shaking his head. “No,” he says. “He’s… the letter… he sent the letter… it’s been… how long does it take a letter to get to Kampala?”

Poptarts doesn’t get the chance to answer; there’s a commotion in the hallway. Voices, and footsteps coming their way.

“Sir, he’s very sick-” That’s Elder Church. But ‘sir’? Who-

The door opens, and in walks the mission president.

 

“Elder Price,” he says.

Kevin sits up with a jerk. “Yes, sir,” he replies, like it’s a reflex. It mostly likely _is_ , since he’s actually able to remember it, but-

Poptarts doesn’t have any air in his lungs.

“The other elders said you were sick, son,” the mission president says.

“I’m… recovering,” he replies.

“Good, good,” the mission president replies, pushing into the room. Poptarts is frozen to his chair as the man reaches out to rest the back of his hand against Kevin’s forehead. Kevin flinches, but he doesn’t react otherwise, and Poptarts starts praying that maybe this won’t end as badly as he’s sure it’s going to. “Now, you don’t look sick, but the boys here told me you’ve been in bed for weeks. How’s your strength?”

Kevin starts to shiver.

“Oh, now, that’s just too bad. Looks like his fever’s coming back. You boys said you’ve had the doctor take a look at him?”

Davis jerks his head in a sharp nod, standing straight as a soldier.

“Well, what did he say is wrong with him?”

A beat.

“Malaria,” says Davis. Poptarts is amazed that he doesn’t sound shaken at all.

“Malaria, hmm, that’s not good,” the mission president says, sounding like he really couldn’t care less. “You’re making sure he gets his medicine, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Davis replies.

The mission president nods. “Good, good. Well, we’d better clear out of here before anyone else catches it. Nasty disease, malaria. You, Elder Cunningham.”

Poptarts blinks; the mission president is looking at him. “Y-yes, sir?” he answers.

“You’re his companion, so don’t let him out of your sight. But keep yourself well. The last thing this district needs is more elders falling prey to whatever the devil has in store.” The man tsks, before turning and heading back to the doorway, his assistants trailing behind him. He stops in the doorway, between Elder Church and Elder Davis who are pale as ghosts, and Poptarts and Kevin, who Poptarts is sure don’t look much better. “Go to the doctor here if you need to,” he tells them, almost kindly, “and, Elder Cunningham, don’t be afraid to talk to your district leader if your throat starts to tickle. That’s going to be Elder Davis here, since Elder Price clearly isn’t up to it. I’ll send a letter checking up on the district in a few weeks and see if any changes need to be made then.”

And then he’s gone, almost as fast as he appeared. Poptarts still can’t move.

Nobody can. They’re all frozen in place, staring at where the _mission president_ was standing not a moment ago, and then Elder Church breaks to run after him, and Davis’ hand comes up to grasp the door frame.

“What the heck?” Poptarts whispers, looking up at Davis from his chair. “What the _heck_?”

Davis doesn’t make a sound, and beside Poptarts, Kevin has started to full-on shake, muttering something under his breath. Poptarts reaches out to comfort him, but Kevin flinches away. Poptarts pulls his hand back to his lap.

“Why was he _here_?” Poptarts asks.

Footsteps approach. Church appears in the doorway again, his shoulders slumped in relief.

“He’s gone,” he says. “Out the door and in his car.”

The tension flows out of Davis like water from a dam, and he slouched against the door.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says with feeling, and Kevin flinches. Poptarts wants to comfort him, but, Davis _cursing_?

“What happened?” he asks.

Davis wipes his hands over his face, watching the ground as he answers: “Elder McKinley sent in a letter of resignation to the mission president last week.”

“...he did _what_?”

Davis sighs. “The mission president said he received a formal letter of resignation from Elder McKinley last week, saying he found himself ‘no longer fit’ to lead the district, and he recommended Elder Price as his replacement.”

For the second time today, the air is punched out of Poptarts’ lungs.

“ _Why_?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Davis says. He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know; he had his interview with the mission president first, and then I had mine, to see if I was qualified for the position, and then the mission president wanted to come s- here.”

Poptarts doesn’t need to look over at Kevin to know he’s falling apart again. Poptarts closes his eyes, sending a quick prayer for strength heavenward.

“Your interview?” he asks.

“I… I guess I’m district leader now,” Davis says. He sounds defeated. “Officially.”

Davis has been doing a good job, Poptarts knows, but a congratulations is the last thing he feels like giving. Church looks nervously between the two of them, like he doesn’t know what they’re going to do. Poptarts wishes for a moment he could be comfortable like that.

“You haven’t talked to him?”

“No.”

“Elder Church, could you go find him?”

“Sure thing,” Church answers; he sounds relieved to have something to do. He disappears again, and the sound of the front door opening and closing reaches the three of them in the bedroom.

“Do you need to sit down?” Poptarts ventures.

Davis shakes his head, his gaze still trained on the uneven wood of the floor. “I…” he croaks. “I didn’t know.”

“He didn’t tell me, either,” Poptarts says. “And I’m… his companion.” _At least I’m supposed to be_.

“No,” Davis says, looking up. “I told him he was selfish.”

“Oh,” Poptarts replies. “When-”

Kevin makes a sound, something between a whimper and a cry, and Poptarts turns to him in a flash.

“Kevin?” he says.

Kevin’s eyes are blank when they meet Poptarts’. “I’m not selfish,” he whispers. “I’m…”

“Oh, goodness, no,” Poptarts says. “Not you. Nobody... “ _Nobody thinks he’s selfish?_ “You’re not selfish, Kevin.”

“I’m not?”

“No, Kevin. You’re fine.”

Kevin blinks, looking through Poptarts unnervingly. But then he lies back down, pulling the covers up to his chin, and Poptarts’ chest aches a little but at least he’ll be quiet for now.

“What are we going to do?” he asks.

Davis doesn’t answer before Elder Church comes trooping back in, Elder McKinley and the others in tow.

“He was outside,” Church says, “like nothing even happened.”

“What happened?” Elder Cunningham asks. “Something happened?”

Kevin makes another little sound, and Poptarts makes a shooing motion to the elders gathering in the doorway.

“Not here,” he says, going to join Elder Davis and the others in the hallway. With one last glance back at Kevin, Poptarts pulls the door shut behind him.

“What happened?” Michaels asks.

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Arnold pipes up.

“Not _here_ ,” Poptarts repeats. He looks to Davis for backup, and Davis clears his throat.

“Living room, everybody. I’m calling a meeting.”

Everyone falls in line well enough then, shuffling to the living room with apprehensive glances shared between them. The elders settle in, Elder McKinley nearest the hallway. He’s smiling, and Poptarts suddenly finds himself annoyed.

“What’s this about?” Neeley questions, looking between him and Elder Davis.

Davis takes a deep breath, but Poptarts beats him to it.

“The mission president was here just now,” he says.

“What?” “Why was he…?” “I thought he hated us.” The elders chorus in confusion.

“Apparently,” Poptarts says bitingly, “Elder McKinley sent him a letter of resignation weeks ago.”

Everyone goes quiet.

“You… you’re gonna go home?” Elder Cunningham asks, turning to Elder McKinley. He sounds so devasted that even McKinley’s ever-present smile slips for a moment.

“No, no, no,” Elder McKinley replies assuringly. “I just resigned as district leader. I have no intention of going home, unless I have to.”

“But… but Elder McKinley… _why_?”

Elder McKinley’s smile comes back with a vengeance, and he straightens up, the picture of a Mormon missionary. Poptarts hates him for that. “Well, I would think it’s obvious,” he says. “I am no longer capable of fulfilling the duties of the position, and it needed to go to someone else. You all already decided this before you knew about my resignation, didn’t you? And Elder Davis makes a wonderful district leader. Doesn’t he?”

“You could have told someone,” Poptarts snaps.

“And,” Davis says authoritatively, “I took charge because you weren’t.”

“Exactly,” Elder McKinley answers. “I am no longer capable of fulfilling the duties of the position, and-”

“So you planned this?” Poptarts asks.

Elder McKinley goes white. “I… what?”

“From the very first day Kevin was sick, you had already given up.”

Elder McKinley falls back in his chair.

“You gave up on him that early?” Poptarts asks. “You just… the first thing you thought was ‘he isn’t worth saving’?”

“Elder Thomas…”

Poptarts shakes his head. “No wonder you didn’t say anything,” he says. “That’s… that’s cruel.”

“Elder Thomas, that wasn’t… Of course I wanted him to get better. I… but I wasn’t… I _can’t_ -”

“No, you can’t,” Poptarts interrupts, “because you didn’t even try.”

Elder McKinley looks like someone just punched him in the gut, but when Poptarts looks around, he doesn’t see much sympathy. He sees betrayal, confusion, and hurt, and Poptarts definitely isn’t the only one angry.

But Elder McKinley hadn’t said a word about resigning. Aren’t they supposed to face problems together? And he’s Poptarts’ _companion_ , for gosh’s sake. Poptarts should have _known_.

“Cut it out, Poptarts,” Davis says, laying a hand on his arm. He turns to address the others, asking “Where were the rest of you?”

“In the community garden,” Neeley replies evenly. “Elder Michaels, Elder Cunningham, and I were working with Elder Hatimbi, Nabulungi, and Sister Kimbay when Elder McKinley came out to join us. He didn’t say anything about the mission president’s arrival or anything transpiring at the house, so we all assumed nothing was wrong until Elder Church came.”

“Well!” Elder McKinley says, standing. “I didn’t want to interrupt the schedule. Don’t we have a prayer meeting in just a few minutes?” He clasps his hands together, beaming at all of them. “Let’s get washed up and back to the garden to pick up Elder and Sister Hatimbi and Sister Kimbay so we can be right on time, all right?”

“Elder McKinley,” Davis starts, but Elder McKinley just says, “Oh, I’ll have to stay behind. I need to clear my things out of the district leader’s desk. But the rest of you can go on and I’m sure some prayer and contemplation will help get this whole issue worked out.”

Silence greets him.

“Now go on,” he commands sweetly. “We’ve all got things to do, and it would just be _rude_ to keep anyone waiting.”

As if on cue, everyone turns to Elder Davis.

“You heard him,” Davis tells them. “Go get cleaned up. We’re going to the prayer meeting, and we’ll work this out later.”

“Davis,” Poptarts hisses, turning on him as the other elders get up and file towards the bathroom. “What are you-”

“I’m going to talk to Mafala,” Davis says quietly. “I’m going to see what he says, and tonight, we’ll figure all this out.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos/comments, or feel free to come say hi at my tumblr: [greerian](http://www.greerian.tumblr.com).


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poptarts finishes the puzzle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you listen to Kronos Unveiled from the Incredibles soundtrack this chapter should get a whole lot creepier.
> 
> And... pretty much all the trigger warnings for this chapter. Blood, guns, suicide, self-harm, self-loathing, homophobia, psychosis, ableism, the whole shebang, so be careful.

Poptarts returns to Kevin’s side as the others head to the prayer meeting. He pauses in the entryway to the hall, and looks over at Elder McKinley’s- No. The _district leader’s_ desk, in its corner of the living room. Elder McKinley is sitting there, filling out some form, and it’s familiar. But then Elder McKinley stops, and he says “You shouldn’t leave him unattended, Elder.”

Poptarts moves on.

Coming to sit in the chair by Kevin’s bed, he realizes he knows this tension. This is pre-diagnosis, post-blood tests tension. This is pre-doctor’s visit, post-hospital admittance tension. This has “something bad is coming” written all over it, and Poptarts hates it.

Kevin seems unaffected, which is nice. He’s laying on his back, now, not curled up on his side, and after a little while, he asks for a Book of Mormon to read. Poptarts hands one over and starts to pace, pace and forth through the length of the room.

The anticipation is so heavy it’s making him sick to his stomach, and the tapping of his once-polished shoes against the floorboards isn’t settling him at all.

Poptarts tries to stay angry - anger doesn’t scare him - but it’s hard with the feeling in the air. So he turns to thinking. Elder McKinley, _resigning_? For a second, Poptarts entertains the idea of going back to speak with his companion, but he sighs and keeps walking. With the way Elder McKinley reacted to Davis’ questions, he’s not likely to get a straight answer out of him. Before tonight, anyway. But _why_ \- why would Elder McKinley give up on Kevin so quickly? He gave up on _all_ of them, doing that. Doesn’t he realize? 

But there are more important things to worry about. They’ll figure out just what Elder McKinley was thinking tonight.

Kevin shifts position, and just like that, Poptarts’ mind is back on _that_ problem.

Orlando helped. That’s all Poptarts knows. His family didn’t… he couldn’t remember them either. But with Orlando, he remembered Poptarts _and_ his family, even if… even though he ended up talking about living there and all sorts of craziness.

Poptarts just thought, for a moment, that Kevin was making sense. If he was making sense, then that would mean he was getting better, but he wasn’t, that was obvious. And then he started shivering for no reason when the mission president touched him, which was a clear step in the wrong direction.

And there’s a million tangents he could head off on with that idea - the way Kevin reacts to touch - but Poptarts makes himself focus on the facts. Kevin’s head is a mess, but it wasn’t before he got here; the answer to all this, what Poptarts need to focus on, what he needs to know and what Kevin has to remember to start getting better _has_ to have happened since he arrived. Because, and Poptarts is convinced of this now, Kevin has to face what happened to him. Poptarts just doesn’t know _how_.  

It has something to do with Poptarts. That conversation about the blood that wasn’t there still haunts him. It has something to do with _blood_ , and it most likely has something to do with the ex-warlord Elder Butt-effing-Naked. Kevin refers to ‘him’ sometimes; the general is the most likely target, since a lot of what happened to Kevin seemed to be connected to that.

But… Kevin seems to remember _that_. He remembers enough to avoid the general, and anyone who looks like him. He remembered that man who was shot in front of him. He remembered leaving his companion. He remembered being held down, at least, because he never likes it. And he seems to feel like he _did something_ to deserve what’s going on now; he wouldn’t think that about what the general did to him, would he?

And Kevin’s symptoms are about more than that. Why would he forget people’s names, where he is, even his own _family_ , months after what happened with the general? There had to be _something_ to make it all happen. There’s something Poptarts is missing. The sounds and the blood; that could be from the man who was shot. The touch; that’s from the general. But the shadows? The demons? Elder Cunningham being hurt? Anything at all to do with Poptarts? That’s different. From what Kevin says, Poptarts thinks his delusions sound almost like a hell dream. The blood, the screams, the things crawling on his skin, people he knows and cares for being tortured, those all sound like the worst kind of nightmare come to life, honestly, and if anything could drive someone crazy, it would be hell dreams.

Hell dreams; Elder McKinley is the expert on those. Poptarts should just run out and ask him, right now. But… but it keeps coming back to Elder McKinley, doesn’t it? Kevin can’t see him. He and Elder McKinley talked the day before this happened. They were the only ones in the house when Kevin lost his mind. Elder McKinley kept crying about it, and Elder McKinley resigned as district leader, giving up even before Davis took the lead. Elder McKinley, Elder McKinley, Elder McKinley. Something is wrong with Elder McKinley, and Poptarts thinks- no, he _knows_ it has something to do with Kevin.

Poptarts has to confront his companion.

He takes a deep breath. “Kevin,” he says, sounding shaky even to his own ears, “do you mind if I step out into the living room for a bit? I’ve got to ask somebody some questions.”

“We’re alone,” Kevin replies coherently, blinking. “But… okay.”

Then the front door slams, and Poptarts jumps about a foot in the air. Kevin has gone pale, and Poptarts rushes out to see-

Elder McKinley is gone.

And the contents of the desk are spread across the living room floor, looking like a tornado hit the room. That’s not normal; Elder McKinley hates messes.

Poptarts thinks about heading out after him. But Elder McKinley hadn’t wanted to talk to him earlier, hasn’t been answering questions at all, and… and Poptarts needs to keep an eye on Kevin.

He turns to the mess, mindlessly bending over to pick up the scattered papers, the pens and pencils, the little office trinkets that must have been shoved in drawers he’s never had to open. Some tracts and pamphlets, stacks of regulations, a spare nametag or two. The mess isn’t so chaotic at all, actually, now that he’s picking things up. It’s more like Elder McKinley dumped out each drawer and made sure no one thing was touching anything else. But it’s still a mess. Poptarts still cleans it up.

He stacks the empty forms in a neat pile, square against the side of the desk, and reaches for another set of papers spread across the floor. But what Poptarts picks up feels different; it’s a letter, tucked neatly in an envelope and much heavier in his hands than the scraps and forms he’s been grabbing. He pauses: his own name is on the front.

With only a quick glance towards the door, his slips his finger under the flap and tears it open, pulling out the letter as fast as he can.

* * *

 

 

> _Dear Chris Thomas,_
> 
> _This letter is the last of all of them. I couldn’t bring myself to write to you first. You’ve been a wonderful mission companion, and you’ve been a friend to me, if I may say that. I haven’t had many friends_ ~~_since_~~ _. I hope you aren’t too angry with me for this. You may look all sweet and innocent but I know, Elder, that you’ve got a temper on you. It’s indearing, I think. Some girl will really like that about you when you return home. Not that you’re particularly worried, are you? You seem more focused on your mission and your family than a wife, which is right and good for a Mormon man._
> 
> _It feels strange to write ‘man’, though. We’re only nineteen, almost twenty. Twenty sounds older than nineteen, but you understand what I mean, don’t you? This is all I’ll get, but you, you have so much of your life ahead of you. You get to grow into that title. And you’re going to be great at it, Poptarts, I know you are. You’ve always been so kind to me, and you didn’t act ashamed to be paired with the Mormon who had gone to_ ~~_convr_~~ _conversion therapy, the way the others would have. You are going to be a great man, and a great Mormon, I know you are._
> 
> _You may not want to take my word for it right now, and I understand. Having someone who gave up on hope tell you they can see it in your future probably is easy to dismiss, but I mean it, Poptarts. I mean every word in this letter. These, in a way, are my last words, and I want you to know that I mean them_ ~~_sincerly_~~ _sincerely. I am trying to be as honest as I can in these letters, because, Poptarts_
> 
> _Sometimes I’m a little afraid that turning it off is actually lying._
> 
> _I know it isn’t. I shouldn’t have written that. The bishops and counsolors I talked to said it was not, and I should trust them._
> 
> _But I am being honest here, completely and truely, because it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? I feel like it’s lying, and that is part of why I can’t do it anymore._
> 
> _I am sure you want to know the reasons why I did this. It is because I can no longer_ _~~ll~~ _ _live with who I am. I have heard from many places that being gay is how Heavenley Father made me, but if_ ~~_he_~~ _He did, why am I_
> 
> _You do not need to read all that. Just know that I did it because I love you all so much, and I … Poptarts, I could not live with myself anymore. I wish I could. I tried. It did not work. I think that was part of Heavenley Father’s plan for me, to make me an example. I_ ~~_don_~~ _do not know. I would give you a_ _straight_ _truthful reason if I knew one and was not ashamed to say it._
> 
> _Looking back on this letter, it is a mess. I apolagize for that. I got carried away. I thought leaving this letter for last would let me make it the best._
> 
> _I am running out of paper. So, let me move on._
> 
> _All my things here (my suitcase and it’s contents) I leave to you, if you want. Mainly I want you to have my tap shoes. You can wear them, if you want. They were expensive and I do not want them to go to waste. And I would like to think you want to wear them, and they would remind_ ~~_me_~~ _you of me. You can throw them away, thou, if you do not want them. The same goes for the rest of my things. Please do not throw out the photograph of my mother and father. Send it back to_ ~~_her_~~ _my mom, please._
> 
> _Last, please trust Elder Price. I put him in charge for a reason. He is good and kind and he means well, even if you do not like him. He’s going to be the one who finds my body, Poptarts, so be nice to him. He will be nice to you. He will be a good district leader, and he will not leave again, I know he won’t. Becase he believes in_ ~~_us_~~ _you._
> 
> _I am sorry, Poptarts, if this letter hurts you at all. That was not what I meant to do. I wanted to make things easier on everybody, that is all._
> 
> _I hope to see you again someday._

_Signed,_

~~_Elder_~~ _Connor David McKinley_

 

 

> _P.S. Thank you for looking the other way for my makeup and my cuts. I appriciated that._

* * *

 Poptarts falls to the ground; his knees hit the floor. He reads the letter over again, and again.

_These are my last words… I can no longer live with who I am… He’s going to find my body._

Poptarts gags, one hand coming up to grasp at his throat. This… this is a suicide note. He’s holding a suicide note. _Elder McKinley’s_ … And there are five other letters, addressed to the other elders. God, he… Elder McKinley was… he…

Poptarts hardly makes it to the bathroom before he empties his stomach, heaving over the toilet bowl. Elder McKinley wrote a suicide note. Elder McKinley was going to kill himself. Elder McKinley- he could be _dead_. He _wants to be dead_.

Poptarts’ shoulders are heaving as he desperately sucks air into his lungs. He reaches up to wipe the vomit from his lips, and- he’s crying. He’s _sobbing_ , his whole body trembling. And then he hears his name.

“Poptarts!” Oh, lord, that’s… that’s Kevin.

“I… I’m fine,” Poptarts cries, and forces himself to straighten up. He’s still holding the letter, somehow, and his eyes catch on the final line. It hurts, it hurts so much, and Poptarts can’t believe that this is actually happening. This can’t be really happening.

But everything makes sense, now. The letter was written before Kevin- before anything happened to him. Kevin must have… he must have _seen_ , walked in on-

Oh god, the gun. Elder McKinley fired the gun, and that must have made Kevin snap. That must have been it, and Elder McKinley was in the closet to do it, and Kevin…

Kevin’s alone. He shouldn’t be left alone.

Blindly, Poptarts stumbles out of the bathroom and back to Kevin’s room, and Kevin catches him in the doorway.

“Poptarts?” he says. “Poptarts, what’s wrong?”

And thank Heavenly Father he can remember something, because Poptarts can’t take care of him right now, he needs-

Kevin needs to know. He needs to remember. If this was _it_ … and Poptarts can’t bring himself to ask.

He hands the letter over, and falls into the chair by the bed while Kevin sits on the bed to read it.

*****

Kevin reads the letter slowly. It’s not meant for him, it’s meant for Poptarts, but he can still treat it with reverence, the way last words are meant to be treated. Last words…

 _Goodbye, Kevin_.

He looks up at Poptarts. He’s a mess - shaking, pale, wide-eyed with horror. But Kevin has seen the sight enough in his nightmares; it doesn’t scare him anymore.

“Did I pull the trigger?” he asks. There’s roaring in his ears, a demon’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder. But Poptarts can’t feel it, or see it, so he doesn’t say anything about that.

“What?” Poptarts gasps.

There are shadows behind him, beside him, around him. There’s something red splattered against the wall, against Kevin’s skin-

“Did I pull the trigger, Poptarts?”

Poptarts’s eyes meet his, and, instead of demons, Kevin sees tears. It’s almost a relief.

“Is that… did he ask you to?” he whispers.

“Is he dead, Poptarts?”

“No, n- god, no, he’s…”

Kevin jumps up, ignoring the way his head starts to spin and cackling echoes off the ceiling. There’s no gun in the corner of his vision, there’s no shadowy figure waiting to drag him away, he knows that. But if there are… they can wait.

“Where is he?”

“He’s… he left, he went for a walk or-”

“We’re going to find him.”

Poptarts gets up on shaky legs and follows him out of the room. It’s just Poptarts, it’s just…

“Unlock the door.” The front door is in front of Kevin, and he- he can hear, from behind him, the closet is there, the closet is open, there’s a boy in there, with a gun in his hands, saying goodbye, and a boy on the ground- “Unlock it!”

Kevin is shaking; he doesn’t know how his legs are carrying him as he goes outside. The sun is blinding, and the roaring turns to static in his vision, he can’t see, the letter is in his hand but it’s being eaten, they’re all being eaten alive, by the heat and those flies, or those ants, or both. He doesn’t have much time until he’s completely gone.

Dark, shadowy shapes in the distance. Elder Poptarts sobs, and footsteps, footsteps, pounding the dusty ground.

“What happened.” Davis. It’s Davis. Kevin can see his face. No blood. No blood. Sweat, from the fires, from the torture, but they haven’t broken his skin. His arms aren’t bleeding.

“Where is he?” Kevin asks.

“Elder McKinley,” Poptarts says. “He-”

“If I didn’t pull the trigger,” Kevin says, shoving the letter into Davis’ face, “then he has some damn explaining to do.”

“What the hell.”

“Where is he?” Kevin shouts.

The whispers- they’re whispering. The others, they’re whispering about him, they think he’s gone crazy. They think… but he’s right, Kevin is right. He’s not the crazy one. He’s not- He’s _not_.

“Elder McKinley!” someone calls, and Kevin’s head snaps up.

Another shadowy figure, but the light is starting to match the darkness and Kevin can see… he can see past the red and the heat waves and it’s him, it’s him it’s him it’s _him_ , and Davis is asking what this is about, and Poptarts says “Elder McKinley- that talk with Kevin, he… he was going to _k-kill himself_ , and he… he must have gotten out the gun to-”

Kevin knows why he got out the gun. He was _there_ , he knows. He knows more than they all think he does. They think he’s stupid or crazy, don’t they? They don’t know. They don’t _know_.

“What is this?” That’s _him_. Kevin’s eyes fall to the deck by default. He… he knows what he’s going to see if he looks up. He’s seen it, he’s seen what he did- but he didn’t do anything. Poptarts says he didn’t. He didn’t pull the trigger.

Kevin makes a sound from between his clenched teeth. Someone reaches out to take his arm - someone who’s trying to be _nice_ \- and maybe the sound is strange to them, but it would sound right at home in hell, and that’s where Kevin lives now. He looks up.

Elder McKinley is bleeding out onto the dusty ground, and none of the others can see. A sob, is it Kevin’s or Poptarts’? but Kevin doesn’t look away. He makes himself straighten up and look the corpse in the eye. The eye that’s left, anyway. Red hair turned scarlet with blood. A pristine uniform saturated. A brilliant smile that still hasn’t gone away. He’s moving, talking, even with half his skull gone- and then his face repairs itself, only for a snap to send his skull shattered into pieces, for the blood to splatter over everything, again and again and again and aga-

Kevin forces himself to focus. He didn’t pull the trigger. He didn’t pull the trigger. He didn’t pull the trigger. He didn’t-

“You,” he says. The voices around him start to go quiet; the demons must be settling in for a show. They always settled down when he was at his worst. “ _You_.”

“Elder Price-”

“Connor.” Dead silence. _Dead_ silence. Kevin hasn’t had that in a long, long time. “You told me to call you that. You called me Kevin.”

“Elder Price-”

“‘Goodbye, Kevin,’” he mocks. “‘Goodbye.’ Goodbye, Connor. Goodbye.”

“Elder Price-”

“You!” he screams.

“Kevin-” That’s… that’s Arnold. Kevin’s head whips around, and _no_ , Arnold can’t- he’s going to get blood on him, and Kevin can’t- Kevin’s already ruined him, already left him, he won’t curse him, too.

“Okay, Kevin,” Davis says, strong and steady. Maybe he won’t die tonight. Kevin doesn’t know, he never can predict it, but- but Kevin’s burning, he’s disappearing, he needs to-

“You,” he says, turning back to- he’s not a corpse anymore. It’s Elder McKinley, looking as he did, kneeling on the floor of the closet. He’s not bleeding. “You… you’re not…”

Kevin starts to walk towards him. There are steps that feel like cliff edges. He steps over them, his stomach falling to the ground then hitting his skull with each one; it won’t matter in a minute. And then the sun starts burning him faster. Kevin can feel his skin dissolving, white burning, fading into smoke, but his bones will remain, and that’s all he needs, a skeleton, something to leave Connor with nightmares. Repay the favor. Credit where credit is due. Guilt where guilt is due.

“You,” Kevin repeats, advancing on him. Connor - Elder McKinley - the demon in pink and red who taunts and teases in his dreams - the living corpse - the being that steals the life from his mouth every night and forces it down his throat again in the morning, steps away. In Kevin’s clenched fist is the letter, pages of it, crumpled and about to disappear, just like the rest of him, but Kevin has something to do, one last thing. “Do you see the blood?” he asks. “It’s all over me. I can’t wash it off. I can’t wash it off. And you. You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re still alive.”

He’s backing away; Kevin comes closer. Faster, everything’s faster, Kevin’s heartbeat (he can hear it; the demons are finally silent; Kevin sends his thanks to the devil; Heavenly Father doesn’t matter anymore), his feet on the ground, the breath in his lungs that’s tearing him apart from the inside out, everything’s burning and Kevin needs to hurry because he’s almost gone, he’s-

“ _You_ ,” he hisses, and his free hand reaches out and grabs something solid. Connor’s heart pulses beneath his grip and vomit rises in Kevin’s throat but he _can’t_ . “You made them think I was crazy!” He’s not _crazy_. He’s right. He’s right. He’s right. He’s _incredible_. The letter-hand rears back, and Kevin’s fists lands against the demon’s nose. A crack - a cry, cries, cries, cries from behind him and the demons are awake again - and blood, blood all over its face, the way it should be, the way it _is_ , the living corpse is a corpse again and it _stays that way_ , and Kevin can see the blown-out part of its skull, the dead eye, the dripping bloody uniform, but he’s still holding its heart and when he tries to pull away it comes with him, it’s pulsing, it’s burning in his hand and he can’t breathe, he can’t- the sun is burning him away, it’s demanding, it wants all of Kevin given up, and Kevin has given up _so much_ for Heavenly Father already.

He vomits into the flames licking at his legs (no, no flames, dirt, maybe wood, Kevin doesn’t know) and he tries to throw the letter and the heart away, but they’re stuck, stuck to his hands and someone comes up behind him and Kevin knows what they’re going to do, his hands are on Kevin’s waist, and he’ll reach for the belt and show Kevin what’s he’s good for and Kevin-

*****

The clinic is as quiet as any building Connor has ever been in. Gotswana doesn’t say a word as he cleans him up. Connor doesn’t feel anything. He feels the pain when Gotswana sets the bone straight again, but other than that - nothing. Gotswana is scowling, he sees. Connor doesn’t try to talk to him.

And then his nose is taken care of, and Connor straightens up on the exam table.

“Shirt, off,” Gotswana barks.

“Why?”

“Now.”

Nabulungi talked to him, Connor remembers. She had been with Elder Davis and the others when they came back from the village. It must have been after their prayer group. Sister Hatimbi was coming back to pray over Elder Price, when Connor came back from his walk. She was the one who brought him here, and she took Gotswana aside and whispered things into his ear that Connor hadn’t bothered to listen to.

Poptarts had told them all about the bandages under Connor’s shirts (and the ones around his thighs, now). Nabulungi must have heard, and decided it was right to tell Gotswana.

Connor wishes she hadn’t seen any of that.

He wishes nobody had seen any of that.

He strips off his shirt, and then his temple garment.

Gotswana isn’t nice as he pulls the bandages away and pokes at the scabs beneath. Connor doesn’t move away, or tell him to stop. He probably deserves it, after everything.

“At least I cleaned them,” he says, in his own defense.

“Pants.”

The pants and garments come off. Connor’s eyes close as Gotswana takes off those bandages. Those cuts are deeper. Connor isn’t proud of those.

“What did you use?”

“A razor.”

“Clean?”

“I washed them every time.”

Gotswana replaces the bandages, one at a time. Disinfectant, a pad, and tape. Seven of them. Connor barely moves to help him.

He gets a shot in his arm.

“Tetanus,” Gotswana tells him. “There’s no injection for AIDS.”

Connor hasn’t met the doctor’s eyes since he arrived.

“It wasn’t like I did drugs,” Connor offers.

“You,” Gotswana says. “Shut up.”

Connor does.

“You’re staying here until we can find a place for you,” the doctor says.

Connor hangs his head.

Gotswana goes to the door. He opens it. It closes behind him. Connor doesn’t move. It opens again, and in comes Nabulungi.

Connor reaches for his temple garments - it’s not _appropriate_ \- but he stops.

“What does it matter?” he mutters. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Elder McKinley,” she says.

Connor doesn’t even rest his hands in his lap. It doesn’t matter, does it? It’s not like he has any secrets left.

“Sister,” he answers.

“Why?” she asks. She’s crying. Just like Elder Cunningham has been, all week.

“A lot of reasons.”

“Why?”

Connor shrugs.

“Why, damn it!”

He looks up at her, dull blue eyes meeting red-rimmed brown.

“I’m going to have to take whatever you say back to them,” she says. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

What does Connor have to say?

“Nothing, Sister. Tell them I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Do you think that’s good enough?”

Slowly, Connor shakes his head. He knows it’s not good enough. If it were, the first cut would have made it all better. It doesn’t, though. It never does. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

“You’re _sorry_. You’re sorry about Elder Price?”

He winces at that. “I never… I didn’t mean to-”

“To break him?” Nabulungi cries. “I have never seen someone so gone, Elder. And I live _here_. Do you know how many people I have seen die?”

Connor closes his eyes.

“Elder Cunningham has been hurting himself so much over this. He thinks-”

“Take his razors away,” Connor says, tonelessly. He’s been there; self-harm isn’t as awful as everyone pretends it is. “He’ll be fine in a week or so.”

Nabulungi sobs.

Connor doesn’t care. He’s looked Death in the eyes, and had it taken away. He’s driven someone to the brink of insanity, and pushed them over the edge. He’s failed his district; he’s failed his family; he’s failed his God. And now everybody knows. He doesn’t have any pity to spare.

“He feels like it is his fault,” Nabulungi says. “They all do. They all blame themselves, when they should be blaming _you_.”

“I know,” he answers. His voice is barely above a whisper.

“I thought you were kind,” she says, coming closer. “I thought all you Mormons were good-hearted people.”

“I know,” he repeats. “And I’m… selfish.” He smiles a little bit, the corner of his mouth tilting up, and Nabulungi’s face twists, like she wants to slap him.

“You fucking are!”

Connor shrugs one shoulder. It’s not a lie. And being gay is bad, but lying is worse-

His jaw is clenched, and he lets it drop, like his shoulders. He’s half-bent over on this exam table, naked and bandaged up. He should probably be ashamed.

“Why did you do it?” she asks. She sounds almost soft, now.

“I told you,” he murmurs, looking past her to where the wall meets the floor.

“No,” she says. “You said ‘reasons.’ What are ‘reasons,’ Elder?”

He shakes his head. “Selfishness,” he answers.

“And?”

“That’s it.”

“Is that what you want me to tell them?”

“Yes.”

“These are your friends,” she tells him. “Your brothers.”

Connor doesn’t feel a thing.

The room is silent, for a long, long time.

“I will tell them,” Nabulungi says. The door opens, then closes.

And Connor is left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon: Elder McKinley was never much of a speller, but writing becomes a lot harder when you can't stop crying.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please leave kudos/comments, or feel free to message me at my tumblr: [greerian](http://www.greerian.tumblr.com).


End file.
